Where They Go
by PippinStrange
Summary: After the snap, Peter Parker is trapped between dimensions. He navigates alternate realities full of familiar people & worlds unknown if he is going to be able to find his way back to the war against Thanos. Contains heart breaking spoilers, signature Marvel humor, a wild ride across the galaxy. Set between Avengers: Infinity War & Endgame. Final ENDGAME epilogue POSTED! Spoiler!
1. Part I: Reality - Prologue

Dearest Readers,

This entire story is a spoiler for the end of Infinity War, so only read this if you've seen it. It's also a GIFT FIC for my amazing beta's birthday approaching in the fall, Queen of Crystallopia. My first gift fic, I am not sure if there's a special category for these, so, let me know. Please see your nearest dollar store for balloons and your nearest grocery store for the cake and tissues.

Tissues for the inevitable tears. I'm still shook from that film!

Please feel free to leave reviews and tell me your thoughts on the story and if it makes you feel any better, haha.

And as always - to Crystal! You are the greatest writer I know!

Love,

Pip

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CHAPTER ONE

 _Prologue_

* * *

 _..._

 _I don't want to go,_ I said - I cried -

Over and over again -

Please don't take me

Not here

Not like this

 _I don't want to go_

 _I don't want to go_

 _I'm not ready_

 _Mr. Stark, please - don't let it take me_

"I'm sorry, Tony," I say,

Splintering - sickeningly - I am ash, brown and flickering like candle light

Snuffed out

I'm nothing

I'm nothing

I'm not there

Anymore…

More what, though?

I had felt Mr. Starks arms grasp me firmly one last time, holding me, telling me it's going to be okay

But it's not okay, is it?

Or at least, it's not okay on a crazy-ass planet of broken ships and rocks.

I'm here.

Where is here?

Everything around me is solid white. Or at least, some semblance of white. There is a bright mist along the ground, there _is_ no ground, really. Like a cloud filling the bottom of a swimming pool. No water, though. Just fog.

Fog fading into a gray expanse in every direction.

I can't tell if I have a body or not.

The last thing I remember…

Crying with fear - for my life - ending -

Holy shit.

I'm _dead._

I died.

I died, crying, in Tony Stark's arms. Full of fear - begging. Knowing it was the end and feeling no bravery, no heroics, nothing but teeth clenching, shirt grasping, trembling fear…

I never said goodbye to Aunt May. Ned. Michelle.

I'm overwhelmed in darkness, not from the fog around me, but from inside. It claws up my throat - I gag. I heave dryly over and over - lungs.

Lungs.

I still have lungs.

You can't throw up if you're a pile of dirt, can you?

Last I checked, I looked like the end of a cigarette butt. Too soon…? But I had to have died - that has to be death. Nothing else could feel like that.

I felt death creeping over me and obliterating me from the ground up.

That was certainly death.

I did not imagine that I died frightened and scared like a child.

I'm still that way now - afraid, clenching, grasping, liquidizing fear in my heart and lips.

Fear laces through my veins. A tremor wracks me solidly through the middle -

My chest hurts. I still have a chest.

I take a step forward.

I have a foot!

No, make that two!

There's nothing but white fog, as far as the eye can see - which isn't very far, because it's thick. If I had to guess though - the fog above me feels pressed. Hemmed in. It's a shade darker than the fog on the floor, I can almost imagine the soupy clouds are actually bumping against something like - a ceiling.

Oh, I get it! Thanos probably used the a stone to like - only make things look like death - and feel like death - heck, maybe it's still death - but he really just sent me to a giant cloudy space prison. Right? Everyone who died is probably here.

Everyone,

I try -

I don't realize I'm screaming until I shut my mouth, and it's silent again.

"Hello?" I try.

Nothing.

"HELLO!" I scream. "ANYONE OUT THERE?"

Still nothing.

"AUNT MAY!" I scream, as loudly as I can. My throat burns. "MR. STARK? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME! HELLO! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!

HELP ME…

HELP ME…

PLEASE…

SOMEBODY…"

I bend over at the waist and sob. Over, and over again, the sobs shuddering through my body, pooling in my stomach with nausea and pounding in my head with a migraine.

I fall to my knees, holding my arms, sinking deeper into the fog. The ground feels cold, and flat. Invisible. Linoleum on the floor of a grocery store if I had to make a comparison to anything.

I press my face into the cold, holding myself, shaking with shock and non-function.

I can't be dead. Not like this.

Not if this is the afterlife…

A pure expanse of nothing.

I open my eyes and lift my head. I think I was asleep - for who knows how long. How can one tell the time here? There's no time. There's still

Wait

Wait wait wait wait

WAIT

There's something

Oh, god. There's something.

Breaking up the monotony.

A shadow not far from me - maybe twenty feet. I shakily stand, looking down at my hands. I can't tell what I'm wearing. For a moment it looks like - the Iron Spider suit. Then I see nothing - no hands, no feet, no body. Then I see a normal school outfit, a green t-shirt and jeans. And then my old spider man suit… then nothing again…

Like I'm flickering in and out of existence.

The shadow is taller than me. Rectangular. Like an obelisk from that really REALLY REAAAALLY old movie 2001 Space Odyssey.

It could almost be a tall door-sized white chocolate bar.

Not door SIZED…

It IS a door.

Very plain. Just white, not even a particular kind of material, that I can tell. It's just… solid…

The most beautiful sight here. The only thing to see at all. The knob is a small silver dome. No specific style. Just a single bulb to grab and crank to the side…

But I don't touch it.

The door is standing alone. No walls. I walk around it, instead. Examining it from all angles. As if a door frame was built alone and a door placed inside. There is an energy around it - one I can't explain. Maybe it's alive! So I wouldn't want to touch it without its permission, right?

"Hello," I say quietly, at the door. "Is anyone on the other side?"

No answer.

I finally gather my nerves and press my ear against its surface - no sound there, either. The surface doesn't feel any colder or warmer than the rest of this place.

There's really no temperature here, either. I can't feel anything except the existence of my own body.

I gotta figure out how to get back. That's the mission. Spider-Man's next mission. Spider-Man Go-Home. Operation New York - wait, no. Maybe not home. Maybe the same planet I left. I don't even remember what's it called. How would I find it if I don't remember what it was?

Everyone was disappearing - dying - Tony held me as I died, but maybe he turned to dust right after me.

Maybe everyone is dead and there's no one to rescue there.

But it would be safer to check. Especially if Mr. Stark survived.

I step back from the door. The only way to go is through.

I grab the knob and slowly twist it to the side. Then I thrust the door open as fast as humanly possible - it opens inward -

Revealing -

Nothing.

The same fog on the other side.

It's just a frame and a door.

No walls into another room - another world - or home, like I so foolishly hoped for a split second.

I've fallen through the empty door frame to stand precisely where I stood before when I examined the back of the door. Shit.

Shit shit shit shit.

I'm trapped here.

Maybe forever.

Disappointment and pure terror crushing me, I slowly shut the door.

It clicks shut.

Slumped, I turn around and -

There's more of them.

Hundreds more of them - row by row, column by column. All identical. Set up as if they were planted, like an orchard.

A doorchard!

I find myself smiling. Well clearly I am not so dead and this place is not empty like I thought. They can't all be empty. There would not be so many doors for all to be empty. One of them has to be like, like - like a portal! Maybe the same portal that opened up over New York all those years ago and let the aliens in!

Maybe I'll just fall right into Manhattan and everything will be okay again.

Or maybe they are all empty and that's purgatory. I'm trapped in a fog bank, spending eternity testing each door only to find nothing every time, forever a cataclysm of helplessness, despair, and hope.

I walk down the aisle between the doors, looking carefully over each one. Counting them. Looking for differences. But I see nothing, hear nothing.

I leave one of the doors open, to experiment. It stays open. It doesn't try to swing itself shut. I try to test for wind - any sign of the natural world. No wind either to push the door even a hair's breadth out of place.

I try each one.

Empty

Empty

Empty

Empty

Empty

Empty

I lose count sometime around three-hundred. I walk through another one, nothing changes. Everything is the same on one side as it is on the other.

They go on for miles - no, not miles. Eternity.

I stop and rest. I don't feel tired, exactly, but - maybe I need to give up. For a moment. Wait until curiosity takes over again, giving me motivation. So I force myself to give up.

I feel the weight of the horror press on me again, overriding my hope, exhausting me.

I collapse on the floor, curling up in a tight ball, holding my knees to my chest.

Pressing my face in, I unleash a torrent of sobs. I let them take me over, making me sick, till I hyperventilate. But I can't die twice, can I?

"Peter."

I imagine for a moment someone calls my name - if only.

"Peter," a voice says, and a hand gently touches my shoulder. I twitch, coming out of the semi-vegetative state of emotional agony, tuning into the fog again. My eyes pop open and I'm scrambling to my feet, launching myself up and bracing myself on a door frame with shock, mouth opening and closing like a fish trying to speak.

"D-D-Doctor Strange," I splutter.

He's standing in front of me. In the flesh.

He looks how I left him. Brutally bashed in, clothes torn, a bloodied lip.

"DOCTOR STRANGE!" I literally throw myself at him, giving him an embrace that was certainly not expected nor necessarily welcome. I find myself bursting into tears again - but relieved ones. The kinds that are pathetically joyful. This guy is so powerful - with magic - even without the stone! He could probably get us home!

"I'm so happy to see somebody," I sob wholeheartedly. "I thought I was trapped here - alone - alone - I can't be alone like this - you won't leave me, right? Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me. Please..." I venture off into hysterical territory.

He pushes me away from him momentarily, grasping my shoulders firmly. "Are you hurt?" he asks darkly.

"I don't know," I sob.

"You were lying on the ground. Are you hurt? Did you fall?"

"No - no - no," I continue to cry like a crazy person. "I just - I was just…" I make a winding gesture, pointing at my blotchy, red, blubbering face. "I was doing this. Like right now."

Dr. Strange expression softens, letting me hug him again. He gently pats my back. "Shhh, there, there," he says in a clipped tone. "You are going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright. We'll… we'll… I'll… I mean, I shall make sure you're alright. That's my job. There there. You're okay."

Job?

I recognize that tone.

It's professionally… clinical one.

Dr. Strange.

Oh shit - he's an actual doctor.

"Dr. Strange," I say with a hiccough, trying to control myself. "Like an actual Doctor. Not… a fake name."

"Dr. Stephen Strange," he replies wryly, "Neurosurgeon."

"And a magician," I add hopefully.

He levels a calm, calculating stare at me. "Yes, in a sense. Though a magician unable to help us out of this trap, I am afraid."

I stare at him and feel a sudden _WHOOSH_ under me - am I turning to dust again? No, please, god - no -

But I'm just sitting heavily on the ground with a thud.

"We're trapped," I repeat in a hoarse whisper. "We… we won't escape..."

The pure horror of this threatens my very core.

I can't do this.

Not even with company. With or without.

How exactly can one live forever when you're already died?

In a show of solidarity, Dr. Strange lowers himself beside me, resting his elbows on his knees and staring off into the endless rows of doors. "Not exactly," he says. "trapped - yes. Unable to escape, no."

I look at him. "Do you mind explaining that oddly counter-productive statement?"

He glances at me sharply, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, which quickly dissipates. "We are trapped between dimensions."

"Like… earth and space?" I ask in a small voice.

"Dimensions," he corrects, and I imagine how he must of sounded at a hospital. Probably just like this. "The planes at which our known realities lay on top of one another... like a stack of plates. Doorways connect them - in theory. Which we prove today by being here amongst them. Millions of doors. Millions of possible realities."

"You mean I could jump through a door and go back to our reality," I say eagerly.

"It would only seem that way," Dr. Strange corrects crisply. "Not the reality in which we just died."

I feel my heart slam in my chest. "So…" I can barely bring myself to say it. I wipe my nose on the back of my hand, my chin trembling. "So we did die."

"By the mortal sense of the word, yes," Dr. Strange says. He looks at me, his expression severe, but not directed towards me. Just in general. "What were you studying in school?"

"Uh… like everything?"

"Still in high school," he infers.

"Was," I correct, looking away. "WAS in high school."

"Have you come to study yet the laws of thermodynamics and the conservation of mass?"

"That mass cannot be created nor destroyed but only rearranged?" I blow a puff of air through my lips as if someone asked me if I knew how to solve for x. "Yeah, we've studied that."

"Wrong," Dr. Strange exclaims. "Incredibly wrong. It's the energy. The energy cannot be created nor destroyed, only rearranged. Total amount of energy in a closed system can…"

"Change from one form to the other," I finish. "Right. That's right - yeah, duh. Um. Probably got that wrong on the final, too."

He pauses. "We've been killed by Thanos in our reality, there is no doubt about that. Our mortal bodies destroyed and our energy rearranged to arrive between dimensions."

"So… why didn't I go to heaven?" I ask sheepishly. I never really believed in anything, but I at least had a vague idea of an afterlife I did believe in, where I'd see my parents and my uncle again. There was no scenario in which I was in danger and thought that if I died, I wouldn't see them again. They were a given. My anchor at the end.

Instead I have a surgeon with a funny name.

Dr. Strange clearly thinks this is a stupid question, but makes the kinder choice not to start an argument about it. "We have not… advanced, if you will," he says carefully, "Into any other dimension because time is still in flux. The universe has rearranged us because it may still have need of us."

"Is that like, the wizard stuff?" I ask carefully. "Which is cool - like really cool - don't get me wrong - but I fail to see how - or why - we're here. And not," my voice chokes up, "there."

"I am a purveyor of the mystical arts, yes," Dr. Strange intones, "But there is science behind it as well." He turns to me, looking somewhat urgent. "You remember what I told you. And the others. I saw only one path in where WE were victorious. Didn't I tell you that?"

"Yes?"

"We are on that path still," he says,

And suddenly

His body flickers

Like a two dimensional image

Transparent one moment, solid the next.

I jump to my feet, pointing at him. "What was that?" I ask, fear crippling me again. "What was that? DID YOU SEE THAT?"

Dr. Strange looks around, calculating, but not afraid. He stands and clasps his hands together. "I am in a different inner-plane than you. Each between their own reality. We cannot share - for long, anyway. Did you not realize this?"

"Huh?" I ask.

"You came in through the door you opened," Dr. Strange says. "Only what's left of my capability for powers in this anti-mystical place is keeping you here now. You'll have to return to your own."

"Don't - no, you can't," I cry out in a panic, reaching out and grasping his arm. "You can't leave me in here. Not alone. Please. Please don't."

"You won't be alone," he says brashly. "Trust me. And I'm not leaving - you are. Each one of us who was killed by that smug purple bastard has their own plane. We may visit, if we like. But not long. Everyone has their own door - do you understand?"

I feel a strange tugging on my body, like someone attached parachutes to my shoulders and then turned on a windstorm.

I fight it. I stand firm.

"I'm not leaving," I say. "I can't - I won't. There's millions of doors. What if I can't find you again? All of them were empty, anyway."

"You can find me again," he says comfortingly. "They only look empty. You have to step through."

"I can step into the space between realities where other dead people are?"

"Certainly," Dr. Strange gives me a wan smile. "And visit alternative realities of your own."

"Have you been to some of yours?"

"Yes - for days already. Weeks."

My heart falters. "Won't you run into yourself in the past?"

"Only if I still had the time stone," Dr. Strange says sternly. "You on the other hand - you will not run into past selves. There is only one you. You have died. All these realities are in a stasis of non-movement - in a coma, if you will. They only begin when you step through. Alternatives."

"What's the point of that?"

"If anything, to keep you occupied until the world has need of us again."

"What do you mean by that? Like, live some other life just to curb boredom?!"

The tugging is sharper - it's starting to - tug me back -

My feet skid on the floor.

I notice a door slowly creeping open behind me. By itself.

"It's going to be okay, Peter," Dr. Strange says.

I grab the frame of the closest one to me, my fingers clenching the hard material, my brow furrowed with doubt at him.

"I don't believe you," I admit, my voice growing louder. I don't think the wind is making a sound, though.

"One path," he holds up a finger. "I said there was one path in which we were successful. Tony Stark took that path - don't you understand? We are dead - but only for now. The universe will rearrange us again."

"Bullshit," I find myself saying angrily. "People don't just come back to life."

"I'm sorry, Peter," he replies slowly. "It's… it's going to be a long wait to find out if that is true or not. Until then - there are escapes. No time will have passed - it doesn't exist here. Different realities. But the doors will always be there. Just don't forget to come back so that you can be ready. When there is time again."

"I don't want to…" I find myself repeating, but I'm cut short by a WHISKING sound, like reverse vacuum with a higher pitch, and I'm sailing through the air and plummeting through the open door behind me. It slams shut, and the wind pull ends, and

I'm falling on the ground again.

I'm instantly at my feet, wrenching the door open again - begging - praying - I can't be alone again - I can't -

I can't -

I can't -

I open the door and Dr. Strange is standing right where I left him, giving me an incredulous look. "Mark the door if it makes you feel better," he says without much sympathy. "We must make the best of this."

"I WILL!" I bark, slamming the door again, seething with anger - the unfairness - the confusion. He wasn't making any sense! At what point does the universe decide it just WANTS US BACK and we pop back into the reality we left? That's not even possible.

I look at myself. I'm wearing what - seems like - a spider suit. More like a pair of pajamas. It's seamless. There's nothing to it. No web shooters, only patterns. No Karen. Nothing.

I look back up at the door. Cringing, I steel myself, plant my feet, and punch the door as hard as I can. A slight indent appears - but not obvious enough.

Letting out a roar of anguish, I punch it again, and again, and again. Each pound harder than the last, creating a small crater in this weird material. At last it's deep enough to notice, and speckled with red blood. My knuckles sting with the split skin.

Well, even the blood is a little bit of a relief. It means in whatever inter-dimensional shit hole I'm stuck in, at least I have some sort of mortality. If I can bleed, I'm alive. No matter what this dumb universe wants to do with us.

And now a door to Dr. Stephen Strange's plane is marked distinctly. I can find it again if I am careful, and I vow not to venture beyond three rows on either side so I never get lost.

I take a step back and look at the other doors.

Each one of them the same.

But I hadn't walked through them - only opened them. What happens if I…

I go to the door next to Dr. Strange's plane, wrench it open, and walk through.

There's brightness - noises - voices, cars.

The smell of exhaust and freshly burnt toast.

The welcome cacophony of a Sunday morning in Queens.

...

* * *

...

* * *

Coming Next: On his first venture into an alternate reality, Peter tries to warn his family about Thanos. But the whole thing about alternate realities are that... they're a little different and it doesn't go as planned.

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Please leave a review :)


	2. Part I: Reality - In The Flesh

Dearest Readers,

I can't believe the amazing feedback I've gotten on this story! You guys are AMAZING! I think you will be surprised and excited about what is in store for you. As always - for you Crystal - may the road to your birthday be paved with epic fan fiction, nerdy delights, art and writing, AND NO MORE HEADCOLDS!

Read on my lovelies,

Pip

* * *

PART ONE - REALITY

* * *

Chapter Two

 _In the Flesh_

* * *

 _..._

...

"Holy shit," I breathe in the sight - the smell.

It's a warm day. Sunny. Car horns blast at each other in traffic, a cab jostles by. There's a street vendor selling hot dogs.

I turn in a circle, overwhelmed. It feels so real.

I mean, I guess it is real. It's my reality. Alternatives, he called them. I could stay here for awhile if I like, but…

If what Dr. Strange said is true, then Mr. Stark could be single-handedly defeating Thanos with some sort of amazing miraculous loophole that no one ever thought of, and when he does, he uses the infinity gauntlet to bring us all back. Maybe time gets reversed and I'll just wake up on the bus going on a field trip and I won't remember any of this. That would be… not unwelcome.

I wouldn't mind forgetting how I died.

So Mr. Stark's probably going to save us all.

That's got to be it.

Right?

I know if anyone could figure out a way to do it, it'd be Tony Stark.

I find my mind keeps replaying my last moments alive like a sicko. Mr. Stark held me while I died. He made sure I wasn't alone. But now, I've left him alone. The immeasurable sadness I feel stops being for me - I feel it for him. I couldn't repay the favor. He made sure that he cradled my obliterated body in his arms until I wasn't there.

I wish now that I could be there for him, telling him he's not alone, that he can bring us back, and Dr. Strange made sure he was set up for success.

I wish I could say this to him.

I wish I could talk to him right now.

I glance around me. The door remains open behind me, a pool of white mist beckoning with eerie silence on the other side. I carefully shut the door, and step away from it.

No one notices me or the door. The sidewalk isn't super crowded, but anyone who steps close enough simply walks around the door, as if instinct tells them to not run into it.

I turn my back on it, nervously, and walk a few steps towards the hot dog vendor. Then I turn and look back.

No door.

For a second I panic - but too soon - there's a glimmer of white in my peripheral vision. The door moved. Now it's in the side of the building, looking like a side-entrance to this pawn shop. I walk back to it and open it once more - fog and nothing.

Okay.

I can do this.

I can.

I turn and walk up to the hot dog vendor.

"Hello," I say carefully.

"What'll it be?" he responds. Every unpleasant thing about him - his bad teeth, his body odor, his shabby clothes and slightly unwashed-looking hands reaching for a bun, is the most welcome thing I think I've ever seen.

"You can see me?" I ask.

His eyes narrow. "Yeah?"

"What am I wearing?" I add.

"Uhhhhh," his eyes look me up and down doubtfully. "Clothes? Like jeans and shit?"

I look down. I see that too.

"Look, do you want a dog or what?" he continues, voice growing agitated. "Money first."

"I'm so sorry, I don't have any money," I say. "I just wanted to… to… never mind. Sorry to bother you..." I start to walk away.

"Look, kid," the man sighs with an annoyed huff. "I burnt one'a these a half hour ago. Save em for my Rott at home. But you can have one if you're hungry."

I turn and look back at him. I don't remember the last thing I ate - wait, yes.

A shared sandwich with Ned on the bus on the way to our field trip. Which means it's been over twelve hours since I've had anything to eat, if I could guess. It was difficult to tell how much time had gone by on the creepy ship driven by the Voldemort dude, and how long we fought Thanos on the planet where we… we…

where I… died.

I blink. "Th-thank you." I walk back to the cart. "I mean, if it's okay. Yeah. I'll have the burnt one. I'm really sorry I don't have money, though…"

"Don't sweat it," the man grumbles, tucking it into a bun, too, and about to hand it to me. Right before my hand touches it, he yanks it back. "You ain't been doing drugs or anything, right?" he asks. "Screwing around with me because you got the munchies?"

"No sir," I say quickly. "No, I don't do any of that stuff."

He hands the hot dog to me. "Stay in school."

"Okay," I nod heavily. "Thank you. Really. It's really nice of you."

"Yeah, well, beat it before the other homeless guys think I'm just giving free food away."

"Thanks," I repeat, holding the hot dog close to my chest and walking down the sidewalk, ducking down a thin, dirty alley to eat in peace. I try not to snarf it down, but it's hard not to feel a sort of panic, like, I never thought I would eat anything ever again, so I should consume this as quickly as possible before something goes wrong.

I slow down and try to take slow bites. Pausing between each one to take deep breaths and look around the alley. Right side, a chain link fence ends the alley between the backs of the two buildings. There's a dumpster, too. On the left, the sidewalk is still busy, people walking by with grocery bags and walking dogs.

I look at the wall in front of me, and a white door appears. It looks like mist, forming out of a cloud and growing more and more solid.

Okay. Cool. So the door just follows me around.

Weird.

And totally doesn't make any kind of scientific sense, no matter what the neurosurgeon says! This is just straight up magical stuff. I wonder how often Dr. Strange has an argument with himself about mysticism vs. scientific theory.

I bet the debate ends if his cape slaps him in the middle of it.

Personally, that thing sort of creeps me out. Maybe if it looked more like the carpet in Aladdin it would be less weird.

When I finish eating I leave the alley way, walking back down the sidewalk the opposite direction of the hot dog vendor. Shoving my hands in jean pockets, trying to look like I belong here. I wonder if it is like one of those Inception sort of things where the imagined figures populating my alternate world will attack me if I look too invasive.

Every so often I glance over my shoulder. I see a white door whenever I look, usually in a different place. Once in a storefront. Another embedded in the street beside me. Another on the second story of a nice apartment building behind a balcony railing. Always forming somewhere close right when I look for it.

Eventually I have no patience any longer.

I break into a run. As fast as I can. Accidently knocking into people, jumping over (or running into) obstacles like trash cans and fire hydrants. When I start to feel tired, I keep pushing. When I feel like I should stop and rest, I don't. If I wasn't Spider-Man, I would have probably thrown up that hot dog.

Fists clenched, lungs heaving, I push myself until all I can think about is getting some water and collapsing for a little while…

Then I turn a right onto my own street.

My street.

Aunt May...

I don't have keys with me. I click the buzzer outside for my apartment.

"Hello?" Aunt May's voice.

"AuntMayit'sPeterpleaseletmein," I cry out in a single breath.

"Peter? Like my NEPHEW Peter?" she sounds confused. "Um. Sure honey." It's weird hearing her say my nephew, she never called me that. She always just called me her boy.

The door buzzes and I yank it open, dashing for the elevator and slamming my hand on the button. It takes a frustratingly realistic time to arrive, ding, open, and then I'm in - foot tapping agitatedly - another ding, doors opening,

Running down the hall, lifting my hand to slam on the door, but it's already opening and Aunt May is standing there expectedly, eyebrows raised with concern, I rush at her and throw my arms around her and I'm crying with happiness - exclaiming things I don't even understand - blabbing in utter nonsense that she's okay, I'm not dead, she's not dead either, if there was a way that I could express that I hadn't meant to leave without saying goodbye...

She rubs my back hesitantly. "Peter - Peter honey - calm down. It's okay…" She pulls back too soon, keeping her hands braced on my arms, looking me up and down. "Are you hurt? What's going on?"

How do I even start?

"You - I mean, I…" I stutter. Is she even real? Or just a… figment of my weird alternate realities that didn't start until I was in them? I hate the idea of this place not existing simply because I'm not in it. Isn't this Aunt May? Isn't she thinking - feeling - fearing, as much as me?

"Why don't you come in sit down, sweetheart," she pushes me to the tiny table and chairs in the kitchen, kicks the apartment door shut behind her, and pulls out a chair. I slump into it heavily. "I'll… get you some water. Tea, maybe? Soda? What do you like?"

"Water is fine," I rasp. This feels off. Like I'm a guest. Like she wasn't… afraid for me. Did I not disappear from a school field trip two days ago?

I nearly slap my forehead in frustration. Because that was the reality I LEFT. Of course she doesn't miss me. I had forgotten already. That was the reality I died in.

Just because she's here doesn't mean it's the same one.

I'm in a different reality, I remind myself. Just because she is here doesn't make it… correct.

She places a glass of water in front of me, and I take two shaky sips. She watches me for a moment before lowering herself gingerly into the chair across from me.

"Everything is going to be okay," she says softly. "Just take some deep breaths. Okay?"

"Okay," I gulp. I should have tried to act normal.

There is no way that this ends well for anyone.

"You can tell me what's wrong," Aunt May says firmly. "Whatever it is."

I don't say anything at first. I take another drink.

"Did you have a fight with your dad?" she asks.

I look up at her, blinking. Once. Twice.

"What?" I ask hoarsely.

"Did you have a fight with your dad?" she repeats. "I remember the only reason I ever ran away from home as a teenager and felt that scared and hopeless was when I had a fight with my parents."

My lips form a confused, sort of sarcastic response in pure disbelief before I can think it through, imagining Thanos's terrifying smile.

"I fought with… someone… I mean," I say uneasily. "But… it's not..."

"Do they know you're here? At least?" she prompts. "I mean, you can stay here as long as you like, but… at least… let me call them. Tell them you're here. They'll be worried to death."

To death.

"Them…?" I repeat, like a parrot.

"I'll call your mom," Aunt May says, more to herself than me. "She can tell your dad so he doesn't go crazy. He's a worrier, that one."

"Call my mom?" I repeat again.

"Peter, honey, are you sure you're okay?" May asks again. "You look like you're in shock or something. Should I grab you a blanket? Isn't that a thing? Wait," she stands up suddenly. "You got into a fight? Like a FIGHT FIGHT? Like a school bully vs. nerd sort of fight?"

She's looking at my bloody knuckles from marking the door to Dr. Strange's plane.

"Yeah," I say, trying to make my confession look guilty.

"Jesus christ," Aunt May throws her hands in the air, looking very Italian, and marches over to the freezer. She yanks open the door and pulls out a frozen bag of carrots, stomping back to me and placing them gently over the back of my hand. "You sounded like it was the end of the world earlier, not a fist fight." She slumps back into her chair, still confused. "But why did you come here?"

I shake my head. I didn't come here to put myself into the shoes of a Peter Parker that doesn't exist. I came here to - to - I don't know, I guess. I certainly didn't come here as like, evil-clone-time-traveling version of myself trying to live a lie. I just wanted to tell everyone that I was back, that… that we needed to be prepared… in one universe or the next, Thanos could still be out there…

"Aunt May," I say. "This is going to be difficult for you to believe, but I really came from…"

My words are cut short by the sound of the apartment door opening behind me.

"Hi there, stranger! Look who is paying us a visit," Aunt May greets cheerfully, looking over my shoulder.

No.

Freaking...

Way.

I turn slowly and look behind me. Uncle Ben walks in - smiling - putting his satchel down on the floor by the front door where I've dumped my backpack so many times - closes the door behind him - says,

"Hey, there, Peter!" like he hasn't seen me recently except in casual interactions -

Closes the door behind him -

The apartment door slowly turns from that weird gray color to solid white.

There's a mist bleeding in a bit around the edges.

Neither of them notice.

My mouth is hanging open.

"A pigeon is gonna fly in there and make a nest if you're not careful," Uncle Ben says, walking by me and ruffling the top of my head like I'm a ten year old embarking on little league for the first time. He leans over Aunt May and she greets him with a kiss, grinning into it, and he's walking to the sink to wash some of the grime from work off his hands.

"So how's it going, you two?" he asks over his shoulder, the sink running loudly.

"Peter's had a bit of a rough day," May replies.

"Oh, really? What happened?"

"Peter got into a fight at school," May answers.

I start to protest.

"Oh boy, you're in trouble for sure," Uncle Ben laughs, turning off the sink and drying his hands. "My brother hates fighting." He turns around and leans on the counter. "So what happened? Was it Flash Thompson again?"

My heart beats faster. "Flash? Flash couldn't punch a pillow even if he aimed for it. Determine the mass and weight, maybe, and then solve the equation - incorrectly - on paper, but..."

They're both blinking at me in slight confusion.

I look down at the frozen veggies on my hand. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Why don't you come sit with us," Aunt May says carefully. "I think we should talk."

Uncle Ben's face grows concerned. He sits down beside May so that they are both facing me.

I can't believe what I'm seeing right now.

Uncle Ben.

Not dead…

I have to physically grip the table leg with my uninjured hand to ground me. To keep me from jumping to my feet and throwing myself in his arms and crying and asking for his forgiveness.

I wish I could explain what happened to him in the other reality, only to hear him say that everything was okay and no matter what happened in other universes he'd always love me in this one…

He looks like he always did. Dark hair. Dark eyes. A little silver at the temples… thin build, but strong. A type of guy that looked trustworthy the moment you looked at him. Made you feel safe… loved… protected.

"Peter got in just a second ago and um - to be fair - you were absolutely hysterical," Aunt May says calmly. "I just… want you to tell us if you're not giving us the whole story. You know we're always here for you if you need us. But…"

"Define hysterical," Uncle Ben looks at May with seriousness.

"Sort of screaming at me and crying," May answers. "I'm not going to lie. Really freaked me out for a second."

Uncle Ben looks back at me, and REALLY looks at me, like the kind of look where someone with superpowers is reading your mind to determine the truth. "You don't look so good," he admits.

I nod with a nervous gulp. "I'm not… so good?"

"So aside from the fight," Aunt May says gently, "Why don't you tell us what else is going on."

"I…" I begin to stutter. "I don't… I don't know…"

"What about when you said when you came in?"

"I don't even remember what I said," I confess.

"You were saying that you weren't dead and that I wasn't dead and everything was going to be okay," Aunt May repeats carefully.

Uncle Ben blanches with surprise. "You said what?"

"Sleepwalking," I blurt out. "I've been sleepwalking. Had a crazy dream everybody died and I woke up on the sidewalk out front."

Dead silence.

"Yeah, that's a bullshit answer," Aunt May exclaims.

"I'm going to need to hear a real one," Uncle Ben quickly agrees. "I think you safely have about… five minutes before I'm calling your parents. Just to…" his tone changes, and he reaches forward and gently lays a huge, weathered hand on my arm. "Son," he says softly, "If you're having like… a nervous breakdown… or you're depressed, or into something you shouldn't be, or whatever the hell kids get into nowadays, there's help for you - WE can help."

This was going downhill fast.

"I'm not lying," I lie. "I really did have a horrible nightmare that everyone died and I wanted to see you and make sure you were safe."

They glance at each other. They don't buy it for a second.

"Please don't tell my parents I scared you," I ask quietly. Not that I care if I get into trouble with parents who… probably aren't real, technically. Neither of them are. None of this is.

It's a world without consequences. What will they do? Ground me?

Do I want to face the completely unreal-consequences just so I can see their faces again?

I wouldn't… I wouldn't mind seeing them.

I only remember their faces like a childhood moment you don't actually recall but you've had explained to you so many times that it feels like a memory instead.

"I didn't mean to scare you," I add. "I was just - I was scared. I overreacted."

"So…" Uncle Ben leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. "Did you fall asleep in the middle of the street before or after the fist fight?"

He's being sarcastic with me. Shit. I'm a horrible liar.

I'll have to come up with something else.

"I'm Spider-Man," I blurt out instead.

"What the fuck?" Aunt May practically shrieks.

Some things don't change, apparently.

"What's a spider man?" Uncle Ben exclaims with confusion.

Aunt May pats his shoulder. "That wall-crawling vigilante I showed you on YouTube."

"There's a few of those!"

"The red one!"

"That was a real thing?" Uncle Ben gasps. "Wait - you - and you're it?" he points at me. "How did you - what did you - does your mom and dad know? Please tell me that you told them and I don't have to be the guy…" suddenly he ducks down and looks under the table.

"What are you doing?" Aunt May asks.

"Looking for hidden cameras." Uncle Ben sits up again. "Is this a prank?"

Aunt May smiles in spite of herself.

"Not a prank," I reply hoarsely, and her smile quickly vanishes. "Okay - listen - this is hard to explain - it's just…"

"Prove it," Uncle Ben says. His eyes are twinkling. He thinks I'm just trying to pull one over on him. He always had a great sense of humor… but…

I sigh and stand up, looking around the apartment. Only now I realize it's setup differently. No embarrassing school photos in frames of me placed all over. It's weird how different a place looks just because I wasn't raised there.

Apparently I was raised somewhere else, with a fully alive mom and dad.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask sheepishly.

Uncle Ben chuckles. "Climb a wall, I guess."

I go to the emptiest wall on the inside of the living room running parallel to the apartment hall outside. I stick my hands, fingertips only, on the surface and crawl steadily up.

They don't realize they're truly seeing what they're seeing until my feet are a good few feet off the floor, and I'm bumping my head into the ceiling, and then I move my hands up to the ceiling, and begin crawling across the ceiling. I stop in the center, and look down at them upside down, my hair flopping and my T-shirt riding up into my face. "Like this?" I ask.

Aunt May and Uncle Ben are both standing, watching me with mouths dropped open.

I unstick one hand and lower myself back to the floor, then release.

I stand there awkwardly, waiting for them…

"Please say something," I giggle. I never imagined having this conversation. Ever.

"This isn't funny," Aunt May barks.

"I have no WORDS!" Uncle Ben says at the same time. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Since my last field trip to the Os..." I try to explain.

"WHAT EXACTLY IS THIS!" Uncle Ben continues, throwing his hands in the air. "Are you like - an Avenger now? Are you - like, a Robin Hood? What - what - what - …"

"Yes, I'm an Avenger," I say, lifting my chin a little higher.

Aunt May drops back into her chair.

"Mother of God," Uncle Ben says, mouth hanging open still.

It's just silent for a moment.

"Do you need more proof?" I ask confusedly. "I can… um… like… do this?" I reach down and pick up the couch, holding it up in midair for a moment as if it's made of paper, and then set it back down. "So..." I say again. "You good? You both good?" I glance down at Aunt May.

"Aunt May," I exclaim. "Are you going to FAINT?"

She looks rather green.

"No," she says shortly, but she does stand up and go over to the sink, leaning over it and taking deep breaths. Then she runs the faucet and splashes some water on her face.

Uncle Ben stands there stoically, worry written across his face. "How did they let a fifteen year old boy in the Avengers?" he asks.

I shrug. I don't know that, either. "I know this is a lot to take in…"

Aunt May whirls around, finding her voice. "A LOT?" she yells. "A LOT TO TAKE IN? This isn't like - teenage pregnancy that you're confessing here, Peter! This is - this is incredibly dangerous! Possibly illegal! And REALLY dangerous, did I mention that? And not telling your PARENTS… God almighty…" I start to answer, but she goes on. "Last I saw anything of Spider-Man on the news was he took down a fucking plane and captured the terrorist who tried to hijack it!"

Not sure if her summary of Toomes and Moving Day was a little off, or if she was recalling an incident in this reality that I never truly had before.

I don't know how to answer so I just grin awkwardly instead.

"You look like your Dad," Uncle Ben grumbles.

"Don't you give me that stupid smile," Aunt May wags her finger at me. "You can't just blush and mumble your way out of this one. I'm calling your mother. End of story. I'll be the bad guy if I have to if it means protecting you, do you understand?"

I nod carefully. "Yeah, um, you might want to wait on that. Just… please wait a moment. Hear me out."

She pauses with one hand reaching for the wall-phone that she always insisted we keep because it was cool and retro, the long curling chord dragging along the ground after years of stretching all over the apartment because she took it with her from room to room…

"There's something bad coming," I say calmly. "I… being an Avenger… I get to do a lot of things I can't tell you about. I get to travel the world. I've fought battles and…" my eyes start to fill with tears, and I furiously blink them away, wiping my nose on the back of my hand, my chin trembling annoyingly. "So… the last one I was in… it didn't go so well."

Uncle Ben walks towards me, reaching for the remote on the table beside the couch. "Is it on the news?" he asks.

"Uh, no," I reach forward and take the remote from him, setting it back on the table. "It won't be on the news. It was in…"

They wait.

"Space," I add weakly.

Aunt May snorts. Then she sees I am perfectly serious.

"A lot of people died," I continue, the tears coming down anyway. "I thought - I thought that you - that you both - when it was over, I had to come see you - even if I know it doesn't - work that way - I wanted to make sure you were okay…"

I am looking at Aunt May when I say this.

Uncle Ben feels like… a mirage. A hallucination.

Aunt May raised me.

She's my mom.

She was the one waiting for me to get home from a school trip and then probably called Stark when I didn't and reached voicemail and then called Pepper and Pepper told her and then Aunt May would break down and say I hadn't come home from the trip yet and…

I am looking past Uncle Ben - a cruel reminder of my past in this alternate reality -

And I am begging Aunt May to hear me. Across space, and time… let the real Aunt May, wherever she is, know that I still love her. Even though I died crying and begging for my life - I miss her. I want her to know that she'll be okay. That maybe someday I'd be okay too.

Unless she turned to dust, too.

Aunt May is looking at me - really looking at me. She's sees something in my eyes that Uncle Ben doesn't. I don't know how but she does.

Uncle Ben steps forward and gives me a hug. I start to cry but, but - I keep my eyes open, and I'm looking over his shoulder at Aunt May.

Please hear me, Aunt May.

Please hear me.

"It's okay, Peter," Uncle Ben is saying, "As you can see we are perfectly fine! Healthy as ever, and always happy to see our favorite nephew." He rubs my back. "I think May would agree that we're a little more worried about you than you should be worrying about us," he says, pulling back, keeping his large hands on my shoulders. "I don't know what sort of team that Tony Stark thinks he's running if he just lets the youngest and probably bravest member of the Avengers run off to god knows where after a devastating battle without first getting him some help and calling his parents first. If they expect you to be a soldier they can at least connect you with counselors and health benefits and that sort of thing."

Oh, Uncle Ben. So practical as always. He disengages from the hug and stands beside me, talking in that grown-up sort of voice, the one he used when he was trying to communicate with Aunt May above my head as a kid and keep me from knowing what they were conversing about.

"He must be an idiot to not see that you were in no state to make house calls. Why don't you come back and sit down and we'll call your parents? I swear, we'll help you break the news to them. Gently. If there is anything I am good at, it's easing your dad through tough news."

May nods. "I think that's a good idea. I'll tell them to come over. We'll just all… sit down together and have a little family meeting."

This sounds like a bad idea.

"Aunt May," I say hesitantly.

Suddenly the phone rings. That old, rattling BRING, BRING that sounds like it's going to shake it right off the cradle.

"I bet that's your dad," Uncle Ben guesses.

Aunt May mouths "Sorry," and answers the phone.

"Parker residence!" She tries to sound normal, but her voice cracks, and she clears her throat. "This is May speaking."

She falls silent, listening. Then her eyes grow wide. She looks at us. Then she looks away.

"You're who?" she repeats.

Another pause.

"Tony Stark?" she says. "THE Tony Stark?"

My whole body flinches. Uncle Ben notices, and his brows furrow at me.

"You want to talk to Peter?" she says out loud, glancing at us, her face still a shade of green that I'm a bit worried about. "And what makes you think that I know where my nephew is?" May tries to say innocently, noticing my look. "If Iron Man can't keep track of a 15 year old Avenger, how do you expect his Aunt to?"

She bites her lip and listens to the response, and I leave Uncle Ben's protective bubble and walk over to her.

"It's okay, Aunt May," I say, reaching for the phone. "I'll take it."

"You sure?" she whispers, one hand sneaking up to cover the receiver. "I can tell him to get lost. I don't care if he's the richest man in the US."

"It's okay," I repeat, dettaching her hands gently from the phone. She stands there gaping as I lift the phone to my ear. "Hey, Mr. Stark," I say casually, my voice cracking with worry.

"Where have you BEEN?" he exclaims into the phone. "For the love of Christ we've been pinging your damn suit only to find it still webbed to the chimney of your HOUSE? I had to send Rhodes to play fetch like a golden retriever."

I blink. "I was just… visiting…"

"As you can see, I was able to track your whereabouts regardless," he answers with a sigh. "Water under the bridge. Say what do you think about a little trip to Jersey?"

"Jersey?" I repeat dumbly.

"Little… uh… impromptu meeting," he says. "Let's just say we got a lead. I want you in on this."

"A lead on what?" I ask sheepishly.

Aunt May and Uncle Ben simultaneously widen their eyes.

"Have you been asleep for a week? Kid. Banner. Dr. Banner. We may have found a lead on his location at last. You know he's the only one that might have a shot at this."

I nod to pretend I understand.

"Are you nodding?" Mr. Stark asks. "You know I hate it when you make faces over a call."

"Sorry, yes, sir, uh, I'm nodding," I say quickly. "I'll go with you to Jersey. No problem. As long as Mr. Rhodes got my suit."

"Good. Cuz I already sent a car. Suit's in the case on the seat. You can change on the way. They should be outside of May and Ben's apartment in three… two… one."

I hear a car horn blare loudly outside.

"Make it snappy," Mr. Stark says, and he hangs up.

Reeling with shock - disbelief - at all of this - how it feels, how WRONG it feels, almost like I bought a few androids online, dressed them up in my friend's and family's clothes, and pretended to have conversations with them.

I hang up the phone slowly.

"I can't believe you're Spider-Man," Aunt May says. "And that Tony Stark just called my kitchen phone."

"You don't have to go," Uncle Ben says charismatically, walking back into the kitchen. "You just got BACK from - from - whatever the hell you got back from. Your hand's all scratched up. You're," he reaches over and brushes a leftover tear from beneath my eye. "You're just a kid. You don't have to go."

"I'm an Avenger," I say slowly. "I always go."

"Do we still call your parents?" Aunt May asks carefully.

"Not yet, I promise I'll…" I stop. "They'll know. But I have to go."

I step towards the apartment door and freeze.

The white door.

I had forgotten.

I would just go back to the doorchard. Into the white mist again - silent.

Silent, silent fog of nothing, only reminding me that I'm dead.

Dead.

Dead.

I don't want to go yet. Not again.

I want to go to Jersey and find out where Hulk is.

Because…

What - what if -

WHAT IF…

What if where Dr. Banner is in THIS universe is important to the OTHER universe? What if I can find something out that will help them defeat Thanos?

What if they resurrect me and I come back equipped with days - months - years of studying anything and everything I could get my hands on in every universe ever, and I can help provide the knowledge that we need for victory?

I look at the apartment door. Then I turn back to Uncle Ben and Aunt May, standing side by side.

I throw my arms around both of their necks, burying my face between them. "I love you both so much," I whisper. "More than you know. I'm - I'm not just your nephew. I'm not. You're like my other parents. I love you both so much."

I hear Aunt May gasp a little, and her arms squeeze me so tightly I'm afraid she'll burst blood vessels. Uncle Ben gently runs his hand over the back of my head, smoothing my chaotic hair away. "We love you too," he says, his deep voice gentle. "You know… we never had kids, or anything… but… we never felt like we missed out as much in that regard. Cuz we had you. You're our boy."

"Our boy," Aunt May repeats, kissing my cheek. "Be careful out there. Please. Come back and see us again soon."

I will.

I will, Aunt May.

"Okay," I say instead. "I'm - I'm really sorry, to ask this, I know the window sticks a lot, but…"

Their eyebrows raise, expectantly.

"I need to use the fire escape."

...

* * *

...

* * *

Coming Next: Tony Stark and Peter are off to New Jersey to meet an informant who might have a lead about Dr. Banner. But Peter is having difficulty accepting the stakes of the universe he is in, when he feels like a spy from another world gathering information for his own battles...

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Please leave a review :)


	3. Part I: Reality - The Jersey Stand-Off

Dearest Readers,

Your wonderful comments kept me functioning this week at work lol. Can't believe how lucky I am to get to write in the friendliest fandom ever. For some of the questions asked - technically I consider this a sort-of unofficial sequel to Down Came the Rain, at least I imagine the events of that story still happened to Peter, but it's not so canon that you'd have to go back and read it first, haha. Additionally, I am rewriting Down Came the Rain chronilogically (it's actually already done lol) but I've been posting it on Ao3 only so I need to start posting it here too. I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter, it was a lot of fun once I got into it, but man it was so so hard to switch out of dialogue (my strength) into action sequences (my unrelenting weakness!)

And as always, happy pre-birthday Crystal, who writes the best fight scenes ever, and I hope this padawan did you proud ;)

Love, Pip

* * *

PART ONE - REALITY

* * *

Chapter Three

 _Jersey Stand-Off_

* * *

 _..._

…

I don't look back at the apartment after I slip through the window onto the fire escape.

I can't.

I can't look at them again - maybe Uncle Ben was closer to being right than he thought. I'm on the edge of a nervous breakdown if I let myself get there.

I turn and call over my shoulder, without looking.

"Love you both," I say.

"We love you," they reply, in unison.

It was so... jarring to see Aunt May looking… complete. Happy. Uncle Ben was more than just her husband. He was her soulmate, and she was his.

I forgot how… thin and wan she looked without him.

How she looked in my old life, all the time. Even when her smile came back. Even when she told me she might be ready to start dating again. Even when she laughed all the time when she burnt dinner and ordered takeout. There was always a small part of her that seemed incomplete… not because she couldn't be her own person, but because she didn't want to be whole without him.

I crash clumsily down the fire escape, hang onto the bottom with two hands, and let myself drop into the asphalt of the alley. I brush my hands off and walk purposefully out into the street, looking right and left.

Let's give this alternative reality a real shot. There's car is picking me up, probably by some silent cool cucumber dressed like Shaft, we'll meet at a super-secret location in Jersey and create a battle plan, and then we meet with this source-guy who I imagine has a Russian accent for some reason, and…

Happy is leaning on a car with the engine running at the sidewalk.

"Jesus, kid, did you decide you were granting me your presence as a gift for my sixtieth birthday?" he snaps. "We're late. Come ON, let's GO."

Happy. You're alive. You're my driver again. Mr. Stark sends you to collect me here too. This is great. You're wonderful. You're the best thing I've ever seen and -

"You're fifty-nine?" I blurt out instead.

"The day I tell you my age is the day you read it on my headstone," Happy opens the back door. "Get in and get your suit on, for goshsake. We have a drop to get to."

I scramble into the car to do what he says. "A drop?" I ask. "Like drugs?"

"An information drop!" Happy slams the car door, nearly knocking my head back. He goes to the front, slides in, and expertly pulls into traffic in a zipper-like fashion.

"It's really good to see you, Happy," I say, carefully. "Really good."

Happy's eyes slide into the rearview mirror. "Good to see you too, squirt."

"Squirt?" I exclaim, eyes popping. "Squirt?"

Happy's eyes dart back. "I've ALWAYS called you Squirt! And NOW it's a problem? Gee, next time INVITE me on the rollercoaster, eh? Now if you don't mind, please change costumes." He hits the button on the dash and a black panel slowly slides up between the back seat and the front seat, giving me privacy.

Squirt?!

How the hell did I end up with… that's a terrible nickname.

If anything it reminds me none of this is real. Or… it's only… temporarily real.

With that sobering thought, I open the case on the seat next to me, and with a metallic WHIR it pops open with a bunch of little blue floating holograms with instructions. It's so similar to the first time I saw this suit for the first time that I jolt back a little in the seat.

I shove the deja-vu way, way down, and get to work trying to put it on.

Not so easy to do in a moving vehicle.

Eventually I'm tapping on the black panel, and it slowly slides down - but only about five inches.

"All done," I say, still tugging at sleeves and the wrist shooters and just trying to figure out why it feels like it doesn't fit the same. Did the universe re-assemble me only smaller and wimpier, or maybe I'm like… bigger and thicker? I can't really tell at this point. It just feels funny.

"Good!" Happy answers, hitting the button again, and it starts to close.

"Naw, wait, come on, Happy, don't be like that," I exclaim. "I was joking! Come on. Just joking earlier. You can call me squirt all you want. Just - can we just catch up a minute? Please?"

Happy relents and the panel slides the rest of the way down.

"Can you tell me how long it's been since we've done this?" I wag my finger back and forth between us.

"What, since I've played chauffeur? Oh, geeze, lessee… probably… the last time Tony thought he had a lead on Banner. Three months? It's been awhile."

"Where do YOU think Banner is?" I ask.

Happy makes a disbelieving huff sound. "If you ask me, Canada would be a good place to hide. Way up in the north. Nothing but tundra up there."

"Seems like a lonely place for a scientist."

"Oh, sure, if the scientist is even still in there. He Hulked out after the last big fight and swore he was never letting Banner out again and took off. For all we know, Hulk frankly just - kidnapped him."

"Why does he need Banner so badly?"

Happy glances at me again. "You all right, kid? You hit your head or something?"

I bite my lip and decide to lie, pretending to look confused. "Uh, yeah. Got knocked out in PE last week. How'd you know?"

My heart beats quickly. These are the sorts of lies that trip you up when you least expect it…

"Lucky guess," Happy sighs. "You're asking a lot of questions you already know the answers to. Furthermore, we need Banner because of the Sokovian fanatics. It's looking like war eventually. If you can call a religious crusade a war."

I nod, pretending to understand, but not at all. "One more question," I try.

"Shoot."

"Do my parents know about all this?"

Happy laughs loudly. "Do you think the UN would let us bring you in if they DIDN'T? Jesus, squirt! How HARD did you hit your head? Do you have amnesia or something?"

"No," I protest. There it is, the lie tripping me up… "I mean, they KNOW I'm Spider-Man…"

"Of course! How could you have possibly forgotten…"

"I didn't forget - I meant - do they know we're going to Jersey today?" I backpeddle so hard I might as well be moving backwards in time. But it was a lucky shot.

"Of course they do, we clear everything with them first, you know that. But they certainly didn't tell us about a PE accident. They know they have to keep us informed of this sort of thing. I bet if Tony knew he'd be thinking twice right now about putting you out on the field."

"Don't tell Mr. Stark," I blurt. "I need to be on this mission. Please. I want to help find Dr. Banner. I promise I'll take it easy."

"You bet your ass you will," Happy gets on the bridge and we're aiming for the Jersey shore. I get an excited sort of little shiver in my bones.

"Think Dr. Banner can stop the Sokovians?" I ask, not sure of the context, but trying anyway. Anything to glean more information.

"Stop the Sokovians? Well - maybe - stop the elite few, I hope. But we don't really want to stop them," Happy says. "We want to save them! That's the goal, or so they tell me. What do I know, though? I'm just security." He takes a deep breath. "You know what? I wonder sometimes - just between you and me, kid, what might have happened if…"

"If what?"

"I'm sure everyone thinks it and no one says it. What might have happened if Ultron and the Wonder Twins hadn't won that day."

…

I spend the rest of the drive trying to guess out what the Wonder Twins are without giving myself away. It sounds like something from a cartoon, but I can't figure it out.

Eventually the car gives a little squeak and pulls to a stop. I look out the window - we're at a waterfront. A wide open, cement area stretches forever in either direction, only broken up by stacked pallets, stacked boxcars as high as buildings, warehouses, and huge drum tanks. Exactly the sort of place where a drop should be if someone plans on ending it with a shoot out and needs places to hide.

I shiver slightly. If I need to make a quick escape, the huge construction cranes overhead - at least ten stories tall - are my best bet, bright yellow and glinting in the sunlight. A seagull shrieks nearby.

The place is abandoned for the weekend.

We've pulled up alongside a landed helicopter, silent and rotors are still, except for a slight shift in the breeze, and a parked black van beside it.

Tony Stark is leaning against the door, in something sort of like a bomber jacket and dark pants. Not in his Iron Man get-up quite yet.

I feel a shriek of anxiety down my spine. Last time I saw him, I was -

I was dying -

I let out an involuntary groan and open the door on the opposite side, wanting to puke -

"What?" snaps Happy. "What's that for? Are you carsick? Not on my good seats, please…"

But as soon as the cool, river air hits my face, it's an instant result. I feel calmer - alive -

I'm alive.

I'm alive.

I AM alive. Here, at least.

"I'm not carsick," I manage to say hoarsely. "I just remembered - I - just - homework. I forgot to turn in an assignment last week."

Rearranged, Dr. Strange said. For when the universe needs us back.

When Tony Stark fixes it and saves us all. He's got to do that. Right?

"Seems rather careless of you," Happy slams his own door. "Not like you at all."

At what cost, though?

What if I come back only to find him gone?

"Yeah, well," I say, and I slam the door behind me, my mask balled up in my hand. "I've been distracted by all THIS!"

I start walking with an assurity I don't actually feel. I march around the back of the vehicle and approach Mr. Stark at the helicopter.

"All right, two things," Happy says, reaching Mr. Stark first. "One, keep the kid on reconnaissance if you can. He's in a big funk because of a recent concussion and missing homework."

"Tattle tale," I mutter.

Mr. Stark's expression is hard to read behind his amber aviators. "You said you were on board, kid. Still with us?"

"Yeah," I say, a little too shrilly. "Still with you."

"Thank you, Happy," Mr. Stark says.

"Hmph," Happy replies, turning on heel and walking back to the car. "Radio me back when squirt needs a lift."

I wave goodbye to Happy, my heart hurting for a moment - they'd probably suspect something if I chased him down and gave him a hug, right? Right? I can't do that.

Happy's car pulls in a wide circle away from us, heading back to the entrance gate by stacks of huge cement pipes they stick under bridges to conduct rivers.

Then it's just me and Mr. Stark.

I turn back to him slowly, my heart pounding - how am I supposed to - act -

Mr. Stark is smirking and shaking his head. "You know, if you didn't want to come, you coulda just said no," he says.

"I wanted to come," I protest, a little too loudly. "I wana help you find Dr. Banner."

"I'm yanking your chain," he reaches over and throws his arm around me in a - weird - mentor/mentee sort of half-hug but I totally misinterpret and I go for a whole hug so even though he's only got one arm around me I've got both around his middle and suddenly he's patting my back awkwardly and going "Well now, what's this?"

SHIT! It's like the trip back from the airport all over again, out in front of May's apartment, going for the door and thinking its a hug -

I step back as quickly as I can. "Thought we were hugging," I bark out uncomfortably. "Very sorry. Sir. Mr. Stark. Sir."

Good to know I'm a socially awkward loser in both lives.

Mr. Stark pulls off his sunglasses and looks at me. I mean, really looks at me. His eyebrows furrow and he actually leans in close to my face, looking with a grating, perplexed expression.

"There is something off about you," he says. "There's something you're not telling me."

I blink. "Oh, well…"

He squints at me. "That last little, uh, science experiment in the lab…"

Shit. I have no idea what he's talking about. What lab? Do I have a lab? Like a mad scientist?

"Did you see something?" he asks seriously.

I literally have no idea -

What is happening?

What sort of past did THIS Peter Parker have?

This alternative has an entirely different life -

But Dr. Strange says it doesn't exist unless I'm here.

So it's still MY future, however temporary, isn't it?

"I did, yes," I say, my voice shaking. Go big or go home…

"It was a very… potent mixture," Mr. Stark says uneasily. "His Royal Highness said it can send someone right into their own future if one ounce was off."

"Let's just say… the potent mixture was one ounce off," I reply carefully, repeating his own words back to him to avoid saying the wrong thing entirely.

"What'd your future look like?" Mr. Stark asks, somewhat jokingly.

"I died," I say shortly.

"Jesus," Mr. Stark loses the flippant manner. "They said it could go two ways, seeing it like a movie in your head or living it, sensation by sensation, before you pop back in. Which was it?"

"Feeling it," I whisper. "Every painful second of it."

Mr. Stark clasps my shoulder with a firm hand. "I take it we're not talking dying of old age sitting comfortably in bed surrounded by loved ones and knocked up with drugs?"

I shake my head. I can't bring myself to… say it...

Being erased out of existence by turning into brown ash isn't something that's easily explainable, but I might as well try, however vaguely.

"I disintegrated," I reply. "And it... took awhile."

Silence. I look down and scuff one toe on the pavement absently.

I don't know HOW, but I just managed to blurt out my short and slightly untrue death story in the middle of a conversation and he somehow believes me because of some science shit that I was tinkering around with?

"Still want that hug?" Mr. Stark asks.

I barely start to nod, but he's already putting his arms around me and giving me a hug.

It seems… very understanding and just… so kind. Very kind. There's a real protectiveness there. It's the Mr. Stark I know, the same one that - I mean, if it happened again - I would fall into his arms again and beg, beg, beg while I - while it happened -

Please don't let it happen again...

He pulls back, hands on my shoulders, giving them a little shake. "That is the absolute LAST time that you and Shuri are left unsupervised in that lab. Do you understand me?"

I nod. "Yes, sir. Lesson learned, sir."

"Good."

But… who the hell is Shuri?

There's no time to try and sneak my way around that question, because another vehicle is coming, I hear the rumble of an engine, guttural and puttering -

It's Captain America?

Holy shit!

On a motorcycle!

Why is he so COOL?

I feel like I'll never be that cool looking.

The engine grows impossibly loud as he pulls up alongside the copter and van, face grim with determination, but there's a slight sense of humor around the edges.

He stops, kicks the stabilizer out and dismounts. Then he's pulling the helmet off his head and rolling his shoulders inside a brown leather jacket as if he's been working out and he's sore.

"Captain," greets Mr. Stark.

"Tony," Steve replies. He gives me a glance I don't understand. "Heya, squirt."

Why does everyone call me -

Oh.

The web shooters.

Duh.

"Hey!" I squeak loudly.

"I believe you owe me ten bucks," Steve says.

I glance at Mr. Stark, and then glance at him.

"Me?" I ask. "Did I borrow ten bucks?"

Steve laughs. "You didn't watch the game last night?"

I watch games? WHAT games?

"I didn't," I reply. "I'm guessing..."

"You lost," Steve chuckles. "Maybe when this is over, you can buy me a sodapop and call it good."

"Yeah, well, grandpa," Mr. Stark says, "Just a friendly reminder that no one calls it sodapop anymore. It's one or the other."

Steve stops just shy of rolling his eyes. "I'm going to the entrance, you guys bring up the rear. Okay?"

"Just as planned," Mr. Stark replies.

Suddenly my spider-sense tingles, behind me, directly from inside the van, there's a shifting of movement -

The door slides open loudly, clattering, I jump aside - what the -

The metal-arm guy sticks his head out, hair shaggy but much shorter than the last time I saw him at the airport. He still has a beard and a metal arm, though. He looks like a loose canon dressed for war.

"Buck," Steve greets with a warm nod.

"Hey," Metal-Arm replies. "You're late and we've got incoming." He's holding some sort of tablet thing in his hands. "Six parking on the other side of the warehouse. Two per vehicle. Friendly is in group two, and they've got some heavy artillery. Not entirely sure what they're expecting."

"Maybe a trap," Mr. Stark says mockingly.

"That's my cue," Steve shrugs his shoulders and starts walking to the warehouse. "Give me a minute, then follow."

"Just, as, we, planned," Mr. Stark repeats with an annoyed look.

"Yes, sir, Captain, sir," I squeak.

Metal-Arm laughs out loud. "Relax, kid. He left the spangled banner at home."

His name is Buck, right? Don't people call him Bucky? What if only Captain America can call him Buck here?

Mr. Bucky, then. Just to be safe.

"Oh, yeah, uh huh," I say. "I… noticed."

But I didn't really notice Captain America wasn't in a blue and white uniform. It was mostly just… plain clothes… Same with Mr. Stark. And Mr. Bucky.

Everyone else is dressed for undercover except me.

I feel like I showed up in swimming trunks.

Mr. Bucky gives Mr. Stark a friendly grimace, tapping his in-ear mechanism with the little curly cord disappearing down the back of his jacket. "Eagle-Eyes says they're deliberating about whether or not to go into the warehouse all at once or have some circle around and go in on this side next to us."

I glance over at the warehouse. There's the huge, cavernous opening so large you could drive five semi-trucks into it side by side. Captain America - er, Steve, I guess - stands at the entrance and looks in. He doesn't seem worried at all, just waiting.

Off to the left, there's a few smaller doors to offices or storage.

One of the doors gleaming snow-white and shimmery -

I look away, quickly.

Not right now.

"These little nicknames thing you've been doing lately?" Mr. Stark says, affronted, "That's my gig. I don't like sharing."

"Uh huh, whatever," Mr. Bucky looks like they've had this conversation before and he has zero patience for having it again. "FALCON has eyes on the group going in. Doesn't that mean YOU need to go in?"

Mr. Stark straightens his jacket. "Three against six? My favorite odds. Shall we?"

"What do you - uh - want me to do?" I ask shyly.

"I want you on the ceiling," Mr. Stark replies. "As far as these goons know, you're not here."

Mr. Bucky hands a huge duffel bag out of the van to Mr. Stark, who accepts it and throws it over his shoulder. "Don't escalate the situation," he warns, "They're trigger happy sons of bitches." He gives us a thumbs up with a smile, reaches forward, and slides the door shut again.

"That James has such a positive attitude," Mr. Stark says sarcastically. "Remember what we talked about - you're on light duty today. Watching and waiting. I'll call you in if we need you."

"Do you have like… uh… code word or something?" I ask.

"Same one as always," Mr. Stark says.

"It's not still underroos, is it?" I mumble embarrassingly.

"Uh…" Mr. Stark doesn't break stride for a minute, but a delighted, evil sort of grin takes over his face. "It never was - but it most DEFINITELY is now."

"Oh, great!" I exclaim.

We join Steve by the entrance, me tugging my mask down over my head and trying to make it feel like it fits as well as the last one.

"Go long, kid," Steve smiles at me.

Instinct wants to say that maybe it was a football game I should have watched the night before and didn't…

"Yes, sir!" I salute without even thinking about it. They both laugh quietly at me as I step inside the warehouse, an instant chill from the dark interior.

It smells sort of moldy and cold, like when an old house leaves a window A/C unit on for too long. Inside on the right, there's huge forklifts parked in rows, oil drums, pallets and pallets stacked in plastic wrapping material, and a walls jutting in and back out again on the left side where those offices have interior walls, and a few windows looking into it so that supervisors can see works on the the warehouse floor.

Above, there's a huge open ceiling with massive exposed ductwork and pipes.

With one last glance at Mr. Stark and Mr. America - wait, Captain - Steve? Mr.-Rodgers-Neighborhood - I give them a thumbs up, then use my web shooter to send a stream up to one of the ducts.

With a ZING, my feet lift off the floor, my weight carried up, up, and up, till I stick to the biggest pipe and crawl up and over it like a bug on a log. Then I'm on top, I start the long crawl towards the center of the building, following the pipes like a floating labyrinth above the heads of Steve and Mr. Stark, who stride purposefully forward.

On the other side, there are six people standing by their parked cars, the tinted-window sleek looking things from every crime FBI type of television show ever. They look… well, Sokovian, I guess. Broad shouldered, tall, dressed a little too warmly for today, looking fairly well armed with holsters on their hips, shoulders, boots, waists - like, really overly prepared for a shoot out.

Great.

I start trying to take note of details I might need, in case this blows up in our faces.

Six Sokovians. Five men, one woman. All have dark hair, except the woman,

she's blond, dressed in leather, she's -

Looking familiar -

And she looks into the warehouse where Mr. Stark and Steve wait in the center, and she gets a grim, nearly creepy smile on her face.

It's Black Widow!

HOLY SHIT!

What is happening right now? Why is she with the bad guys? Is she a bad guy in this universe? She was on our side in Germany last time - well, I mean, I guess the only time I ever saw her - but is she on our side NOW?

Did the whole Avengers split happen at all? Or was there just one?

I cling to the pipes and listen and wait just like I'm supposed to.

The Sokovians walk in together, Widow walking with them like she's one and the same. They stop in front of Mr. Stark and Steve, with Widow standing close to the right shoulder of the person who takes the lead, a middle-aged man with a beard and a dark, navy blue jacket. There's a weird little symbol patch on his shoulder that kind of looks like two stars with a bigger star around them.

"Mr. Stark," says the man in front, his accent thick and vibrating. It sounds sort of Russian. "Mr. Rogers. Thank you for coming."

"Mr. Kross," Mr. Stark replies crisply. "Who are all your friends?"

"My bodyguards," Mr. Kross smiles easily. "It is not every day that the Avengers ask a favor of me. You cannot blame me for being prepared for them to not like my answer."

"Hm, one, not a favor," Mr. Stark holds up a finger. "Two, payment first, just to show you how prepared we are for this to go exactly how we want it."

He swings the duffel from his shoulder, and it lands (and slides a bit) on the cement floor with a very heavy thud.

Black Widow says nothing, does nothing. She only mildly interested in the conversation. She must be really good at poker.

"Check it," barks Mr. Kross.

Two of the men from his left duck down and unzip the duffel.

I feel my lenses whir as my eyes widen, beholding stacks and stacks of one hundred dollar bills wound together in little bands.

I've never seen so much money in my life!

There's gotta be like… fifty thousand dollars!

The man holds a scanner over the duffel, and Mr. Stark and Steve wait in tense silence for a moment while it whirs.

Finally, there's a beep. "It's all here," says the man with the scanner, his accent also mildly Russian. I guess that's what Sokovians sound like. "Eight-hundred thousand."

Eight hundred thousand?!

"Look, I let you count it as a token of my good will," Mr. Stark says darkly. "Now you and your entourage can earn it."

Mr. Kross nods to his seconds, who rezip the duffel and pick it up, returning to their line. "Your friend Dr. Banner was not Dr. Banner when last I saw him," he says thickly. "Dr. Banner had taken to residing in a remote village in Switzerland."

Mr. Stark snorts. "We searched Switzerland."

"Did you search villages? Or the unpopulated Alps?" Mr. Kross bares his teeth in a not-so-nice way. "Plenty of legends of what resides on the highest mountains in Europe…"

"Did you take any time to listen to the local color?" Steve asks under his breath.

"Stuff it," Mr. Stark hisses out of the corner of his mouth. To Mr. Kross, he adds loudly, "So, what? There's a legend or two about a big green yeti, right? That's what I just paid you 800k for? I have half a mind to take it all back."

"You put out the word amongst our businesses for accurate facts, not fairy tales," Mr. Kross frowns. "So that is not what I bring you. Myself and my compatriots were in Wengen for an exchange of information much like this one. Nice place, far more open - than here," Mr. Kross looks around the warehouse in mild disgust. "A path clinging to the side of a hill, bungalows on the top and fields below, with a fine view directly across of the great black and white mountains of the alps. So tall and mag-nee-fee-cent you can hardly believe they are real."

Mr. Stark yawns. "The point, Kross. This conversation is worth about a hundred dollars so far."

"My point," Kross growls, not liking the interruption. "The point is the setting. A fine, clear view, straight across a huge canyon cutting between the mountains, where from our perspective, we could see a ship not of human making descending into the atmosphere."

"A ship," Steve repeats. "Alien."

"Kree, Captain," Mr. Kross corrects. "Kree raiders and not to be trifled with. I saw them use a magnetic beam from their ship draw none other than your friend Dr. Banner - shall I say, the Hulk - growling and flailing in a stasis he could not break from. They drew him right into the belly of the ship, shut the doors, and disappeared back into," Mr. Kross holds his arms open like a conductor with a symphony. "Well, whatever lies beyond our atmosphere. What Kree raiders - no match for him in strength, certainly, only capable of containment by technology - would want with someone like the Hulk, I cannot fathom. THERE!" He folds his arms over his chest, losing the poetic smile. "Now my people and I shall take our money and go."

Silence.

"You're welcome to try and stop us," he bares his teeth again.

"Naw, I paid, you opened your pie-hole, now you can go," Mr. Stark waves his hand dismissively.

Kross looks… surprised, almost disappointed. "No further investigative questions from the Mighty Avengers?"

"I have one," Steve asks frankly. "You have a variety of nefarious dealings with people in both your country, outside of it, and with those who may claim there not even from earth. Have you heard any rumors of where Kree raiders take their victims?"

Kross looks even more surprised. "And here I thought you were just the team's patriotic muscle," he says sarcastically. "An intelligent question!"

"Just give him a damn answer," Mr. Stark says.

Kross, to his credit, gives it an honest thought. "Nowhere," he says thoughtfully. "Probably nowhere."

This conversation is going nowhere at all, I think sleepily. ...How long has it been since I slept, anyway?

"That's not an answer…" Steve begins angrily.

"Nowhere," Kross repeats. "K-N-O-W-H-E-R-E. It's a place."

...Did you ever see that REALLY old movie Alien?

"Where is that exactly?"

...Oh, we're using our made up names.

"Ah, coordinates? To a remote location of space so far beyond

Earth's galaxy that no probe nor satel

lite

... could tell us of their existence until…"

...Buzz, buzz.

"...the Asgardians showed up

I doubt you could afford the ones who do know.

Not even you, Mr. Stark…"

 **CLANK.**

My forehead smacks into the pipe that I'm clinging to.

I nodded off.

I NODDED OFF.

My head hit the metal.

The loudly echoing, metallic thud filled the whole freaking warehouse.

I freeze, blinking, completely - frozen - I dare not look over the side again - what if, what if -

"I see you brought few friends, Mr. Stark," Kross says in a snide tone. "I am not sure what your play is."

"Just as much protection as you want for yourself," Mr. Stark says in a low voice.

"You know how much I hate non-disclosures," Kross replies, a shuffle of movement like he's straightening his jacket -

"Gun!" shouts Steve -

A shot rings out, so loudly that the after-effect keeps ringing in my ears, and the pipe next to mine starts spitting and shrieking out a shower of white-hot steam.

"SHIT!" I squawk, sliding to the other side, shooting out a stream of web to somewhere on the other side of Kross's men - I grasp it and let myself fall off the pipe, swinging down into their midst way too fast, colliding with the last goon on his left and knocking him clear across the empty pavement, till his body is knocked backwards into a parked forklift and falls face first, unconscious.

"Oops," I exclaim, whirling around just in time to catch a leg from flying into my face from someone spinning in some sort of roundhouse - "Black Widow!" I exclaim with a hiss so the others can't hear, holding her foot in my hand. "It's - it's me! Peter!"

"Don't care," she spits back, not even caught off balance for a second, pushing off my chest with her foot, knocking myself and her back and away from each other. I catch brief glimpse of Steve having punched the guy's face in, Mr. Stark's fancy watch turned into some sort of glove thing with a small blue arc light in his palm and he's punching someone else -

I feel a massive slam in the side of my head - then the other side -

Black Widow recovered way too quickly, falling back nearly parallel to the ground but knees bent, feet pushing off the floor and flying towards my face, double-fisted slams on either side of my head, but the third comes again from her right so I duck under her arm, spinning my upper body away from her and tucking into a somersault, spinning like a small ball underneath her flailing limbs popping up again behind her -

She anticipated the move and I haven't even fully stood before she kicks her leg out behind her - catching me square in the stomach -

I start to tumble backwards and knock right into the guy that nearly pulled a gun on Steve Rogers. His elbow knocks sideways, a glint of metal flying out of his hand and clattering to the floor - then Captain America's hand is around his throat, lifting him high into the air and throwing him clear across the warehouse.

I've lost sight of Mr. Stark, but no time to look - I duck from yet another punch from Black Widow, and gathering my full weight, I plow head-first into her stomach.

"OOF!" she actually exhales, I've knocked the wind out of her - she takes a recovering step back, a hand on her stomach, eyes glinting in surprise. "You pack quite a punch, little red," she snarls, her lungs heaving.

"I've been known to take women's breath away," I snark back. I hear the bang of a gun go off behind me and the answering squeal of one of Mr. Stark's blue bolts exploding from his hand - instinctively I duck, dropping to my knees, catching Black Widow in the shins this time, and she's down - she falls backwards, fully this time - back slamming on the asphalt -

And I'm spinning away from her too quickly to see if she flips upwards like she did last time, rushing for Mr. Stark's side, because he's got two - no, three guys on him, there's only one still fallen by the forklifts now, I can't see where the other guy was that was thrown -

Steve is fighting three guys -

Mr. Kross watches with a smile, still flanked by at least four -

Wait. There's more people than before.

Definitely more.

So where did they crawl out from?

I'm completely and utterly body slammed from the back, but my wrist shooter zings a stream up to the pipes above me, jerking me up off the floor instead of faceplanting, just out of reach -

But Black Widow grasps my foot, looking up at me, grinning wickedly -

I kick her in the chin, hard, and hit another stream with my other shooter -

Airborn!

"YIKES!" I shriek, overestimating my speed, crashing completely into the pipe - busting it in half - more steam comes erupting out of the crack into my face.

"GAH! HOT HOT HOT!" I yelp, sending a stream off the other direction so I can drop into a downward arc -

Swinging low like Tarzan on a vine, about to pass Black Widow picking herself off the ground with blood gushing out of her mouth -

I kick her again, catching her just on her way up, but she grabs my foot and wrenches it down, and I feel a slight pop -

"OW, sheeze!" I shout, trying to kick her off. "I got a Klingon, Captain!" I wriggle my foot again, "Let go of me! GERROF!"

A guy leers up behind her with a smile, "Hold 'im," he growls, leveling his gun at my face -

And an elbow from Black Widow catches him in the face, his neck completely snaps back, blood droplets flying out of his nostrils -

"Don't you know it's rude to interrupt?" she hisses.

"What the?" I gasp, when suddenly she lets go, and the reeling mechanism on my shooter previously straining is finally released, pulling me with unnatural speed up into the pipes again -

I catch one in my hand, swinging myself up and over it to gain momentum, flying off with a loud yelp of exhilaration till I drop onto the shoulders of the man grappling with Captain America. I reach down and start pounding him in the face, and he yells in surprise at my sudden appearance, and he raises his gun in the air to try and shoot me without really aiming -

Captain America punches him in the wrist so hard that he lets go - the gun is suspended for a brief second -

I slap it down like swatting a bee, and Captain America catches it in his hand, turning around and shooting the man in the leg about to overtake Tony Stark, who had one too many men surrounding him -

And still they come -

They were hiding, much like me - behind the forklifts, holding way more firepower than we had -

I'm sorry, why didn't we bring more guns?

"Told YA'LL WE SHOULDA BEEN PREPARED FOR THIS SHIT," Sam Wilson's voice carries through the echoing warehouse, flying through the entrance, his metallic wings spread out on either side of him - "WHY DIDN'T YA WEAR YOUR DAMN OUTFITS WITH YOUR TOYS!" There's blasts now coming out of his gauntlets, yellow beams of light but with firepower - like firecrackers with bullets instead of light - taking out one, two, three -

losing count -

Too many guys in black, bearing the same three star insignia - down in a row like bowling pins in front of a bird-shaped bowling ball - Falcon taking out each one in his downward swoop, the popping of his weapons in rapid fire.

"I was," Mr. Stark gasps - "Prepared," (punch) "For a little bit more" (slam) "TALKING!" He ducks under an attempted uppercut,

But there's another shot -

I see Mr. Stark twist in a way he shouldn't, as if an electric shot got him right in the arm and jerked his body in a twitchy way -

"GAH," he gasps -

"Mr. STARK!" I say, throwing myself into him, knocking him down onto the cement, looking directly into the barrel of the gun aiming for him -

The man pulls the trigger.

It clicks without firing, and a horrible buzzing sound fills the air.

Mr. Stark is activating something on his wrist, the buzz originates from the wristband of red metal, and an electric shock runs through the entire room -

"Ah shit why'd you go and do that," the Falcon's voice barks annoyingly, and the yellow blasts cease.

I almost got shot in the face.

I almost died AGAIN.

Mr. Stark saved me.

I run headlong into the man with the gun, ripping it out of his hands and shooting pieces of web here, and there, like tiny machine-gun fires of sticky spheres until he's stuck to the oil drum behind him - then I shoot more at the other men with guns - as soon as I see a gun, I fire,

Each tiny web blob pummeling each one, till the room is full of angry yells and clicking of triggers that can't fire anymore -

Shit, I should have done that first! I'm rusty!

Then I turn and do the same thing to Widow running headlong for Falcon, the balls of web sticking under her feet, tripping her till she falls - she's down knees first, and the others stick her hands to the floor too.

"Would you - guys - just - STOP ALREADY!" Mr. Stark cries out annoyingly. "If I wanted an ant farm I would have called Lang!"

Falcon lands for a second, spinning like a dancer, his wings like huge knives catching three people and nearly slicing their arms off -

I lost sight of the Captain, I don't know how many people there are, where I am,

Because I suddenly can't think of anything except the sharp, horribly sharp, jolt of electricity catching me like a knife in the chest -

I'm stunned and buzzing and tipping over -

Twitching

I catch eyes with Black Widow, totally helplessly - flailing, arms pressed to my sides - like a beached fish -

I'm spasming on the ground, back arching, my mouth hissing

"DID…"

(twitch)

"YOU JUST"

(teeth clenching so hard I can barely open my mouth)

"TAZE ME?"

She smiles, still stuck to the warehouse floor, but one hand free and grasping a tazer, the metal coils stretching between her and I, both now pathetically on the floor and stuck right where we are at.

"If you were ordinary," she smiles demurely, "You'd be doing a lot more than drooling right now."

I try to unstick my arms from where they remain stiff at my sides, feeling a shudder run through my body, senses trying recover and a huge glob of drool falling out of the side of my slightly open mouth.

I see Mr. Kross walking away with the duffel bag, four men keeping guns trained on us but not firing, walking sort of backwards to make sure we stay occupied with his band of merry bandits, heading back for one of the black cars.

"Oh no you don't!" I say, crawling forward on my elbows, my legs totally feeling paralyzed and useless and dragging behind me.

I army crawl out of range of Widow, and she watches me with blazing eyes -

That's when I see the gun on her belt.

The gun she is not currently pulling out with the free hand, that could have easily set aside a taser, a hand that could has skipped the taser altogether and taken initially.

A gun that she was quite capable of using while she chose elbows and legs instead.

Then she smiles at me, noticing where my gaze went, and presses a finger to her lips.

My eyes grow huge, the lenses widening, and I do a look back at Mr. Kross leaving in his car - back at her, back at the car -

Behind her, Falcon is using his wings like a shield, folding and unfolding, Captain America is in some sort of martial art hand-to-hand combat, Mr. Stark is helping him - the number of men seemed to have dwindled, they're teamed up now - they're OK -

"Don't just sit there, little red," Widow whispers, low enough that no one should be able to hear her - No one could - she had to know that -

Knowing that I am the only one who CAN hear a whisper like that -

What the hell?

I shake my head free of the clenching and unclenching in my jaw, feeling tingling in my feet and stomach, nausea disappearing - I crawl a bit further than stand shakily to my feet, my knees knocking together and a hand pressed to wear I can feel a bruise blossoming in my side.

"Ugh," I grab at the coils, ripping them out of my suit, groaning and stumbling like a zombie boy out of the warehouse…

Towards the black cars.

One of them occupied. Mr. Kross and his personal guards, driving away from the scene.

The tires spin with screams that smell of burnt rubber, marking up the pale gray cement, two black streams in semi circles as they accelerate.

Suddenly I'm reminded of an old movie called The Fast and the Furious.

It's really too bad that he's getting away after setting up a trap like this…

I look at one of the other cars and spy keys still in the ignition.

...

* * *

...

* * *

Coming Next: Despite the fact that Peter failed his driver's test... there's bad guys that need to get caught.

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Please leave a review :)


	4. Part I: Reality - Fake It Till You Break

Dearest Readers,

Your reviews gave me so much joy and life, I am afraid I did you a discredit by taking way too long to write the new chapter! Actions scenes are very hard for me so I do hope the wait is worth it, haha. Please enjoy and leave comments if you do! Thank you for your continued follows and favorites. You guys have no idea how much those little email notifications cheer me up when they pop up in my mobile inbox while I'm at work. I truly hope you have a great time with this chapter, I know I giggled a lot while writing it ;) And as always - happy pre-birthday, Crystal! :D

Love, Pip

* * *

PART ONE - REALITY

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Chapter Four

 _Fake It Till You Break_

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 _..._

…

There's no hesitation as I dash headlong for the car, legs still twitching with slight jolts of electricity running through my joints. I shake out my hands as hard as I can, grasping the door handle and jumping in.

"Whoa, jeeze," I exclaim, falling back into a very reclined seat of a much taller person. I fumble for the controls to adjust the seat, twisting this way and that, impatiently bouncing up and down as the seat moves forward with a gentle whirrrrr.

I twist the key in the ignition and the engine comes to life with a chill-inducing purr. "Oh my, okay, okay, okay," I say to myself. "Don't forget the - uh - seat belt. Right. Gotcha." I click the seatbelt and pound my foot down on the accelerator.

The engine revs like a delighted autobot ready to do my bidding but - no go. Why no go?

I'm still in park.

I'm such an idiot!

I've - I've driven… some. Not much. I crashed Flash's car. I failed my driver's test. I've had a few lessons in Aunt May's car in a grocery parking lot in the burbs.

I slam my foot on the brake, shift into reverse, and then release. I start to roll back a little, not enough, hit the accelerator again while cranking the wheel - and the car jolts back so fast I nearly slam my own face into the wheel.

"Holy shit, I'm so bad at this," I moan, braking - at least now I'm facing the same way the other car went. I can still see it - tearing down the industrial wasteland of a waterfront, the bumper disappearing between huge boxcars stacked on top of each other like a terrifying game of jenga.

"YOU GOT THIS, YOU'RE SPIDERMAN!" I shriek at myself, hitting the accelerator again, tearing down the cement causeway after the bad guys.

The boxcar and oil drum and pipe stacks swoosh by me, my hands grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles whiten and my palms sweat. It's weird how much the vehicle feels like a live thing, one false move and it'll turn on me.

I'm definitely not a confident driver yet, Aunt May would say. Or I guess maybe my mom or dad would say it - in this universe.

I have to slow down, reaching a sort of dead end, I know they turned around here somewhere - I saw their bumper disappear around a corner just about -

There!

I hear the tell-tale POP POP POP of gunfire, and the horrifying realization that the following PINK-PINK-PINK sounds are shards or hits somewhere near the nose of the car I'm in.

I shift gears into reverse and slam on the accelerator, driving backwards away from the sort of corridor formed between two stacks that they had been hiding in.

With a roar and scream of tires, they shoot out from between them, turning towards me, speeding right for me -

There's a guy standing out of the sunroof with a massive gun aiming right for me.

I speed up my reverse, screaming curse words incoherently, retracing my entire journey here only backwards and without really being able to see -

See - I need to -

"Come on, spidey sense," I beg, "HELP ME OUT HERE?!"

I turn the wheel slightly and just avoid plowing backwards into a stack of pipes stacked twenty feet high, the car nearly fishtailing as I avoid them narrowly.

Still the car is dive-bombing straight for me, the gunfire from the sunroof unceasing, the guy holding it looking all too happy to take me out with a huge grin and a fur hat with ear flaps sticking out too far on either side of his head. Luckily he has the aiming capabilities of a stormtrooper.

I can't drive backwards forever, not at this speed, I'm going fifty something, and they're catching up, the front bumper of their car getting frighteningly close, then withdrawing again, then plowing towards me again - they're playing with me, I realize with horror, they could easily go way faster and just crunch me right in here -

I look out the driver's side window.

Show me a construction crane. Ten stories high.

Those cranes are all over.

Show me a good one -

There.

Keeping one foot on the accelerator and still flying backwards, and gaining speed, I use my left foot to lift up, and out, kicking the driver's side door so hard that it breaks right off. The door flies out into the air like a crazy flying movie prop, bouncing off the cement a few times. Now the wind and smell of the river screams into the car, making my eyes water.

That's when I shoot a string of web out, the strand long and epically singing out into the air till it connects with a lower rung on on the bottom of the yellow iron cross-hatch shapes at the bottom of the crane -

I see the gunman and driver both look over, confused.

Then I slam my foot on the brake as fast as I can and put the car into park -

With the tires screaming into the brisk, sunny weather, the horrible smell of burnt rubber rises, but I'm flying out of the open door and into the sky -

Just in time to see the two cars come together, nose to nose, and bursting into a giant

Effing

Fireball -

The wave of molten heat and sheer crazy pulse of massive flames roar towards me.

"SHIT!" I shriek, still in mid-swing, but miscalculating the height. Instead of bringing me up to the rungs, the swing sent me up, and then too low…

I take a running start in the air, my feet already kicking when the slack launches me right for the asphalt. My feet pound into the cement, sending jolts of burning pain into my heels, as I take off running down waterfront plaza, determined to get out of eye sight -

I mean, in case those guys survived the explosion -

Does it count as killing in an alternative universe?

Are there alternative spouses and mothers waiting for them to come home in Sokovia?

I shake my head fiercely at myself.

No, no, no no no no - Not today, Spiderman. You're a freaking Avenger and they are collateral damage. That's how we do this now.

I'm already dead, right, so there's no point in crying over anyone else dying.

"STOP RIGHT THERE, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

At least six - no, ten - damn - no! Twenty guys come at me from different directions - one from the car, his hat literally on fire and he's not paying any attention to it - six from ahead, coming between me and the crane, four on my right from behind the boxcar stacks, five on my right, a few of which I recognize from the warehouse, another four backing up the guy from the fiery car crash. They all have guns trained on me at once.

I could send another strand up to the crane -

Reel myself up -

They can't all shoot up at the same time, can they? Someone would miss -

Someone might not.

"Oh boy," I whisper. I slowly hold up my hands. "You guys looking for the one who stole your fancy car?" I ask sheepishly. I point slightly with my right hand without lowering it. "He ran THAT way. He was ALSO dressed in red, but like, way bigger and way scarier than me…"

"SHUT UP!" barks the guy closest to me, in front. "Maybe we'll just make this go nice and quiet like," he says, "You have a few choices. Try to fight your way out, we kill you. Let us take you with us, we won't hurt you."

"What if I stand here and think about those choices for an awkwardly long time?" I ask.

He blinks. "You have three seconds to make your choice."

"But what if I…"

"One."

"Oh, you were serious about three seconds?"

"Two."

"Are we fighting ON three or AFTER three?"

"THR…" The guy doesn't even have a chance to decide to do anything at all, because Black Widow steps in front of him from out of nowhere, shoving his gun up so its pointing to the sky.

"Kross doesn't want him dead," she says shortly.

"What the hell?" he responds angrily.

"Yeah!" I chime in, acting just as surprised. I imitate the man's accent. "VHUT ZHEE HEHLL?"

The man glares at me with a smoldering rage only in check because Black Widow steps in his eyeline. "If we kill the kid," she says smoothly, "We won't just be a crew that short-changed the Avengers and walked away with their money. We'll be obliterated. Trust me. They like to live up to their name."

She rather seductively runs her hand down the barrel of the gun, touching the man's hand. "Kross says don't leave a martyr," she croons quietly. "But he didn't say anything about leaving him unscathed."

I feel my stomach constrict. "How scathy are we talking?" I chortle nervously.

Black Widow turns towards me and moves her head from side to side, her neck making loud, audible cracking sounds, shrugging her shoulders as if to work up to a difficult exercise.

"You owe me for that little shit show in the warehouse," she growls, bracing herself slightly with her arms reaching behind her - grabbing a pair of batons from her back, a blue, electrical light crackling with energy from the tips. She gives them a powerful punch, punch, once in each hand, and the light flickers loudly.

"You don't get to just barge in here and give us orders," the man finally comes to his senses. "How do we know you're not just double crossing us?"

"Or double crossing Kross?" I squeak goofily, backing up slightly. There's nowhere to go. I'm surrounded. "How much ops can you double Kross cross, if Kross can't double cross ops?"

One guy starts laughing loudly, and instantly shuts up when everyone glares at him.

Black Widow only smiles slightly, like she's hungry and I'm toast.

"You're mine," she says.

Then chaos erupts.

The others caught up to us. Yellow rapid-fire pulse beams are shooting out of Falcon's recovered gauntlets. Looks like the the electro-pulse from Stark that stopped the gun earlier has a recovery time limit. I scramble away from the middle of the crowd, though it's nearly unnecessary, they're all aiming and pointing up and around, trying to figure out who to shoot at - none of them me, apparently.

There's a huge, jet-engine rush of wind as Falcon, Patriot, and Iron-Man all fly overhead, picking their targets, letting loose repulsor beams and dropping down onto victim's heads.

Well, I guess SOMEONE decided to finally suit up!

"Nice of you to join us, Iron Man," I call up jokingly.

"I've been here the WHOLE TIME," I hear Mr. Stark exclaim, his voice sounding metallic from inside the helmet.

"Yeah, kid, I'm the one that just got here," I hear Colonel Rhodes' voice replying snarkily, his huge, dark gray suit slamming down into the cement beside me, nearly causing a crater. For a moment, his little visor pops open, and he smiles at me with a warm expression. "By the way, you owe me ten bucks."

"You've got to be KIDDING me!" I exclaim.

No time to argue what piss-poor team I had supposedly felt twenty bucks was worth - My spider sense blares a warning, and I duck under a winding kick from Black Widow. She'd been perfectly seriously about not leaving me unscathed, despite her supposed moment of double-agenting in the warehouse.

Just whose side is she on, anyway?!

Rhodes unleashes a blast of energy from his jets, launching himself off the plaza again, the hot air slapping both Black Widow and I and knocking ourselves off our feet. I recover faster, jumping up and shoving her back before she can regain her footing. She flips backwards instead in an almost kiddie-style somersault.

Well, I guess you can't be choosy with how you get out of range -

I glance over at the warehouse again, approximately a hundred yards away, where the van Bucky had been hiding out in comes bursting through the dark opening. It's going so fast that it looks like it's going to tip over, definitely not the type of vehicle built for high speeds -

But the funniest sight of all is Captain America running beside it, keeping pace. They're neck in neck like it's a contest and Cap looks like he'd better win or else -

I glance back at where I fully expected Black Widow to be launching herself for my face, all punches and claws -

Nowhere.

A couple of goons, instead still trying to aim - I leap for them, slamming both of their heads together like an angry mother in a stooge cartoon. They collide and let out groans of pain, sliding against each other for the ground.

The van squeals up to where the two other black cars still sit crunched bumper-to-bumper, the flames high and shimmering in the air, and screeches to a halt beside them. Captain America runs right past it and drive himself, fist first, into a man who was shooting crazily at the sky yelling "TAKE THAT, BIRDMAN! TAKE IT!"

The driver's door pops open, and Mr. Bucky steps out, looking pleased with himself.

"Just as fast," he says to me, with a wink, but his eyes grow wide as Black Widow's arm collides with the side of my face. I'm stumbling out of her way, trying to gain my bearings, not really sure how she managed to circumnavigate the whole group and creep up behind me again -

But just as I wind up to punch her good - just enough to get her out of my zone -

I notice we're winning -

Like, we're really winning. Captain is literally grabbing two guys by their jackets and throwing them like their only footballs. Rhodes is backing three guys against a boxcar, their dropping their guns and raising their hands - Stark is setting off more beams, the squeal and crash sounds of his repulsors like music to my ears. Falcon has landed and is engaged in an intense hand-to-hand fight -

And Mr. Kross is watching me, his head tilted, a smile on his face as he nods to someone behind me.

I feel the baton clobber on the back of my head, and I'm down like a sack of potatoes.

Oh no you don't!

I manage to fall right onto my back, but I kick my legs out and catch myself, launching myself back to my feet - despite the blossoming dizziness and feeling woozy, I whirl around and face her again, and this time I fly at her without hesitation.

She is caught off guard for only a moment, kicking out, her foot catching me in the chest, and it pummels me right back again.

"That's enough!" I hear Mr. Stark shout. "You've lost, Kross! Just take your remaining entourage and go home! We've had enough of you!"

I duck under another punch, giving her one of my own, one - two -and three, right in the stomach and ribs, trying too hard to catch her off guard but not enough to cause any real damage. I certainly don't break anything, but she gasps, the wind knocked out of her, and she twists away from me, stepping on the body of one of her fallen comrades, using him as a three step ladder to one - two - three -and jump onto my shoulders, her thighs squeezing the daylights out of my neck and head, using her body weight to jerk me down to the ground. She catches one arm around mine, pulling it back to try and dislocate my shoulder. The other hand - no, she has that too.

She's got me completely locked.

But I'm stronger.

"Don't make me hurt you," I gasp hoarsely, lying on the ground, with her dumb muscular legs actually beginning to choke me -

"I don't think we need to worry about that," she says in a syrupy tone. "Tap out."

"I'm not going to tap OUT!" I gasp, I bring my leg up as hard as I can, using my knee to knock one of her legs off my shoulder. It sends a jarring pain that I can FEEL through the bottom of her foot, and she lets out a cry, but it dislodges the hold on my neck just long enough for me to twist out, taking her with me from the arm she was trying to dislocate, slamming her onto the cement and THIS time -

But her baton catches me just under the ribs. My full weight coming down on top of her and she stops me from totally body slamming her with just one, small bar of thick, blue-pulsing metal -

Where it hits, I feel the instant strain, and the sudden loss of breath. The rib groans in protest, nearly breaking, not quite there yet though -

She takes this opportunity to flip me on my back, then she jumps on top of me, three solid punches to the face - one, two, three, each on a different side, my head snapping back and forth - I've lost too much breath, I can't concentrate - where are my arms at?

I look past her at Mr. Kross.

He smiles a little, then turns and starts to walk away, but then rethinks this, and looks back.

"Come, Romanov," he says, in that creepy accent. "You've had your fun."

Black Widow looks down at me, her eyes blazing, lip bleeding, forehead wrinkled in anger and something like… a sort of sarcastic expression.

"Let the kid go!" I hear Mr. Bucky yell, and I hear his footsteps start to run towards us.

Black Widow is suddenly ducking her head down slightly, just so that Kross can't see her lips moving.

"I have to make this look good," she says quietly.

"Please," I find myself saying desperately. "Listen… I don't know - whose side you're on - but make it look as good as you want. But. Please… don't knock me out. Please. I don't know if I'll wake up. Please. I might not wake up."

Suddenly Black Widow doesn't really look like Black Widow.

She's Natasha Romanov. Deadly assassin… reformed Agent of Shield… Avenger.

"Make it look good," I repeat.

And an all-around nice person - who looks worried. And kind.

"If you say so, kiddo," she says, and she gives me one last hard punch in the jaw. My head snaps to the side, but I don't get knocked out. She pulled her punch.

It still hurts like a son of a bitch, but she pulled it.

She gets off me and runs, sidestepping and running in a serpentine sort of fashion, and Rhodes and Stark fire at her, making it look good - but missing.

Always missing their shots.

They know.

They totally know she's a double agent.

Mr. Kross is getting into the third and last vehicle, pulling up to the scene. Black Widow jumps into the back seat, and a few other guys cram themselves in.

Suddenly another one is jumping into Mr. Bucky's van, and six other guys are rushing it, diving into the open sliding passenger door. The tires squeal and rubber burns as they peel out, driving away like another Furious movie.

"You alright, squirt?" Mr. Bucky is at my side, grabbing my elbow and pulling me up into a sitting position.

One of my eye lenses is broken, cracked, and fizzling. I reach up and pull off my mask, blinking at blood in my eyes from a cut above my forehead, working my jaw from side to side to try and make sure its still attached.

"I'm okay," I say slowly. "Sort of."

Mr. Bucky helps me the rest of the way up, keeping a firm grip on my elbow to keep me from toppling over.

There are several people lying around us, dead, or unconscious. Rhodes is on like a communications device, explaining the situation.

"We need clean up on aisle nine," he says dryly, looking over at us and giving us a smirk.

"Did ya'll forget the bad dudes took our damn van too?" Sam exclaims, pushing his goggles up over his head. "Why are we not chasing them down?"

"We don't need to engage them any further," Steve says. "Not without blowing Nat's cover."

Mr. Stark is slowly sitting down on top of a shorter pile of stacked, wrapped planks next to the first of a long line of boxcars. Sitting looks really weird and wrong in his suit.

I detach myself from Mr. Bucky's grasp and start trotting over to him. "You okay, Mr. Stark?" I ask, tentatively.

Iron Man waves his hand at me, as if to say, there there, young one.

But when his visor pops up, I know he's not doing too well.

I remember the way he twisted, just briefly, when the fight just started as if something at caught him in the side at just the wrong angle.

His face is dirty and pale inside the mask, and he's breathing heavily.

"Immokay," he spits out, giving me a thumbs up. "Just - a flesh wound. Promise."

"Just sit right there, Tony, and don't move," Steve says, coming up beside us. "We'll get you back. I'll get the copter warmed up," he takes off at a run back for the other side of the warehouse.

"Mr. Stark," I say worriedly, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, squirt," he says hoarsely.

Rhodes hangs up on whomever he's talking to. "We got an injury?" he asks with concern, running to his best friend's side. "What have you got, man?"

"Jesus, you're all my grandmothers or something, I'm fine, just caught in the side," Tony exclaims.

"Caught or shot?" Rhodes asks.

"Okay, yes, shot! Skimmed me. But I'm good."

Rhodes and I grasp his elbows and help him to his feet. I hear the THWOP THWOP THWOP of the helicopter blades beginning their spin.

"I rigged the van to die in about eight minutes," Mr. Bucky suddenly exclaims, looking up from the tablet he pulled out of his jacket. "Just enough time for them to get on the freeway."

Sam gives him a priceless expression. "Dude, I asked about the van like, ten years ago."

Then he looks at me. "Hey," he adds. "And you - YOU, you little bug-eyed narcoleptic piece of spandex. I owe you fifty bucks."

...

* * *

...

* * *

Coming Next: Peter narrowly keeps avoiding those white doors until they make it safely back to the Avengers complex upstate...

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Please leave a review :)

* * *

Dear readers, I just HAVE to tell you that I met Crystal IN PERSON (to whom this birthday fic is for) my friend and beta and fellow-writer-whom-I-beta-for - and she's just AMAZING in person as she is on the page! I am so blessed to have this person in my life! Here's to you and your continued birthday shenanigans, Crystal! You're a bright and shining star!


	5. Part I: Reality - Metaphysical

PART ONE - REALITY

* * *

Chapter Five

 _Metaphysical_

* * *

 _..._

…

I feel tense during the entirety of the helicopter flight. I sit across from Mr. Stark and stare at him the whole time, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed together as if keeping worrisome questions from jumping out unwantedly.

I've made this face before.

Liz Allan's mom emailed my Aunt May a copy of the picture she took of Liz and I for Homecoming after they moved to Oregon. Aunt May immediately blew it up to an 8x10, framed it, and put it in the hallway. Originally she asked me why I was making that face, and I said I was scared of her dad because he made the whole I'm-the-dad-where's-my-shotgun joke.

She accepted it.

But after she finally knew my secret, it put the photo in a whole new light for her.

"So that's the face you make when you're facing a real-live villain," she mused quietly once, staring at it with giant eyes. "I wouldn't want to run into you on the street, either."

I can feel the grit of my jaw and the wrinkle in my forehead is making the exact horrified expression I was making at Toomes.

I can't help it, despite any efforts to relax my face.

Mr. Bucky keeps asking if I'm OK.

Of course I'm OK.

I'm alive, anyway.

So better than the other me. If there IS another me. I'm still hazy on that.

Mr. Stark's suit has condensed, flattened, and whirred into - well, much smaller pieces, all going neatly into a little case now lying at his feet, ready to pop back on at a moment's notice.

Sam and Rhodes had quickly lifted up his shirt and checked the wound in his side - and, thankfully, Mr. Stark wasn't just being brave and foolish and making it sound less than it was. It really was just a skim, no deeper than the first layer of skin and muscle, and the bullet had sailed right on by him without penetrating any internal organs.

"This ain't bad, man, this ain't bad," Sam repeats, relieved.

"Hurts like a mother and bleeds like it too," Rhodes adds. "But you'll be okay." They're perched on either side of him like a pair of first-aid bookends.

"Didn't I tell you?" Mr. Stark grimaces when they put gauze and tape over the wound, to keep it clean and dry till we get to the complex and can take better care of it. "Believe me, there are few occasions where I do not oversell myself." He closes his eyes and leans his head back on the seat, blowing short breaths out of his lips like he's imitating a train.

"Miracles do happen," Rhodes replies dryly.

"How's he doing back there?" Steve's voice appears in our headsets from the cockpit. "Everyone okay?"

"Tony's good," Rhodes replies.

"You okay?" Mr. Bucky asks me again.

I don't really hear him - no, I do, super-hearing is a thing… but I guess I'm not paying close enough attention to register and respond. My side hurts really bad where Black Widow's baton jammed me under the ribs. I can't believe I threw my full weight into that, having just seen her pull those things out not seconds earlier. What was I thinking?

But I'm not thinking about that, not really. My jaw hurts from her last hit, and it just feels better not to talk. But - but -

All I can think about is if one of us had died in this universe - if I died in this universe - do I wake up again in the white dimension? Or is that IT? I had my second chance and I blew it?

What happens if someone else dies here? Can I go to another door and find a universe where they aren't dead?

Isn't that just like, playing God, and that's how all the worst villains are made anyway? By trying to control the outcome and save the people they love until they become the thing that kills them?

What if Mr. Stark hadn't gotten a grazed bullet wound - what if it had gone right into his heart?

"Jesus, kid, you look like you're about to pop," Mr. Stark lifts his head tiredly off the back of the seat and gives me a scalding look. "What're you contemplating right now? I'd like to know, because it looks like murder."

Rhodes and Sam both look at me curiously.

I feel my expression soften a little, trying to keep my eyebrows from knotting together as I gather up my thoughts for a good protest. "Just…" I mutter, "I'm just sore. Worried about YOU."

"He's gonna be fine," Rhodes replies kindly.

"If I had a dime for everytime you worried..." Mr. Stark says.

"Don't you dare say you'd be a rich man," Sam exclaims. "I'd throw you off this bird right now."

Mr. Bucky's stoic expression cracks into a brief smile, then disappears. He looks over at me. "Don't forget to call your handler when you get back to base," he says. "You forgot last time."

I look at him. "Handler?"

"HAND-LER," Mr. Bucky repeats, louder, thinking I just didn't hear him. Okay - one - I have super hearing and you don't need to shout at me, two - I'm the wrong Peter Parker for this universe because I don't know who my handler is or why I even have one.

Suddenly it hits me - something Happy had said earlier in the car.

"Do my parents know?" I had asked, or something along those lines.

And Happy had said something like; "Do you think the U.N. would let us bring you in if they didn't…?"

So my parents knew… er, know... I'm Spider-Man.

The U.N. has allowed me to be a part of the Avengers.

I have a handler?

That means I signed the Accords in this universe - I'm an outed hero. Or at least to the government. They obviously let me keep my secret from friends and some family, like my Aunt and Uncle, but with everything "by the book", they had to get my parent's permission before I did anything. Because I'm a minor...who is also a registered enhanced individual.

So now I'm supposed to report to a handler, someone whose name I don't even know.

And just like that, I remember I'm only playing with borrowed time.

Maybe that time is running out.

I lean towards the window on the sliding cabin door. Trying to catch a glance at the buildings below, swiftly turning into the suburbs as we approach upstate. We're too far away to see what any details look like… much less the doors.

When I think I see a glimmer of bright white that stands out amongst the rest, I quickly sit back in my seat and ignore it.

"I had a bit of trouble getting a hold of… of… my handler... last time," I lie to Mr. Bucky.

Mr. Bucky shakes his head. "I'll help you when we get back if you need it."

"I'm still flummoxed by the part where you went from Super Secret Soldier to our IT guy," Mr. Stark says, still leaning his head back and keeping his eyes closed, voicing my exact confusion. "How you managed to adapt so well to modern technology, I have no idea."

Mr. Bucky smiles grimly. "Steve bought a radio last week."

Mr. Stark opens one eye and peers at him. "A radio."

"Not a, uh, like an iHome or a ghetto blaster or…" Sam intones.

"A radio," Mr. Bucky repeats. "ONLY a radio. He found it at a pawn shop."

"Hasn't anyone taken the time to show the man Pandora?" Rhodes sighs. "What exactly can this radio do? Does it at least play cassette tapes?"

"That's a little box that plays only thirty minutes of music," Sam explains to me condescendingly.

"I know what a cassette tape is," I protest. "And don't you owe me fifty bucks?"

Sam rolls his eyes, digs into his wallet, and hands me five tens. Perfect. I hand a ten across to Rhodes, who gives me a fake, two fingered salute.

I reach behind me and tap the back of the little door separating the cockpit from the cabin, between Mr. Bucky's seat and my own.

Wordlessly, it pops open with a click, and Steve holds his hand up without taking his eyes off the controls. I slap the ten dollar bill into his hand, and he shuts the door again.

Sam looks like a bug. "You lost to THEM?" he barks.

I shrug. "At least I made thirty dollars from you!"

Mr. Stark laughs too hard and groans, putting a hand to his side. "Cool it, kids, till I have some aspirin," he moans.

"Buckle up, team," Steve says in our headsets. "Coming in for the landing."

…

…

The descent is smooth. I'd never ridden on a real helicopter before, and it's different than a plane. Sort of going straight down, and jolty, like those cheap, mobile carnival rides that drop you, pause, drop you again, and pause.

We land with deep thump that rattles my teeth and makes Mr. Stark look whiter than usual, and the engines power down and the propellers above us slowly lose both sound and speed.

When we dismantle our headsets and scramble out of the cabin, Rhodes and Sam begin to cart Mr. Stark off in one direction, and I trot to keep up, my mask balled up in one fist.

I feel a heavy hand land on my shoulder. "You forget already," Mr. Bucky says. "Handler first. THEN you can fuss over your idol. Lez'go."

Steve is already walking across the wide helicopter pad towards the facility - which I find, much to my relief, is the same as in my old life.

The business end looks like a really fancy Japanese car dealership, the side by the helipad looks more like a super-secret spy building with big, black windows and a large entrance where military-style personal stand guard, letting us in with grim nods when Steve shows some sort of badge at the door. We enter in a type of hanger, a really big, echoey one, with a wide cement floor like ice skating rink with no ice. There are cars, black vans, and even a small quinjet parked inside.

"WHOA!" I exclaim. "That's so COOL!"

Mr. Bucky gives me a weird look. "You've been here before, you remember that, right?"

"Yeah!" I exclaim too quickly. "Yeah, uh, I just never noticed THAT before," I point at an old SHIELD insignia hanging off the wall, below a balcony that barely hints of a second floor where I know there's a large technology space (with rows and rows of computers I may or may not have hacked into before on a whim before).

"Oh, that," Mr. Bucky says with an unimpressed sigh. "The Starks have always been very sentimental about their SHIELD history."

I don't dare touch that without giving myself away, so I try to be extra observant instead, taking everything in from a new angle I've never seen before.

Somewhere off to the right of the hanger, I know there's a medical wing on the second floor where Mr. Stark is getting doctored up, and to the right, there's huge hallways and offices and fancier looking lobbies where people can host press conferences.

We pass all too quickly out of the hanger, through a smaller door into a silver and white lined hallway where there's a small, blue hologram floating above a small desk built into the wall. Steve is using his hands to drag things across the projected screen.

"Thank you, Mr. Rogers," says a voice from the blue screen, and when I lean in closer to get a better look, I can see the hazy image of a face wearing a beard and stern eyes. The image clicks out, and Steve taps a floating yellow-ish orb in the corner of the projected screen.

"You're turn," he smiles, and continues on down the hall.

I step in front of the screen hesitantly.

So is there a password? I wonder fearfully. Mr. Bucky may be Mr. Bucky now but surely someone like the Winter Soldier… a spy and assassin for god-knows how many years… he's gotta know that something is off with me now.

"FACIAL RECOGNITION COMPLETE," Karen's voice suddenly comes from the blue panel. "WELCOME, PARKER, PETER."

There's a blip sound and a smaller screen appears floating in front of the first, and this one has a hazy video picture of a woman's face, sort of like a poor quality Skype call.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Parker," says the woman tiredly. She's really pretty and has dark hair, long hair, pulled back in a ponytail. She looks like she's wearing a white lab coat, and she's looking down at a tablet in her hands, not at the cam. "How was the mission?"

"Good," I repeat back, way too loudly. Clearly she doesn't have any trouble hearing me, because she looks up with a slightly annoyed expression. "Any injuries to report?" she asks.

I glance at Mr. Bucky, unsure. "Uh… I… well I fought some guys? I'm a little sore?"

"Please report all abrasions, cuts, bruises, wounds, and any other medical issue to the med staff at the complex," the woman says in a monotone, like she's reading a script. I look down at the bottom of the screen and notice the name beneath says BENSON, VICTORIA.

"Yes, Ms. Benson," I say, trying to sound genuine.

"How's your GPA?" she asks, and she actually looks like she's paying attention now.

"My GPA is good," I reply without hesitation. It's true. I mean… in the world I left. It was good. I was keeping up on my grades. Ned was even helping me with keeping up on some things when hero-work sort of interrupted or otherwise distracted me…

Oh, god… Ned… did you turn into dust too? Were you as scared as I was?

"At any point did you feel that your life was put in unnecessary danger by any of the other adult team members of the Avengers Initiative?" Ms. Benson asks. "You know this is held in the strictest of confidence."

I shake my head fiercely. "No, not at all!"

Maybe a little lie, but what could possibly be the cost of a white lie in a world that I'm going to leave soon?

"Please submit any questions to me if you have any concerns regarding your work," Ms. Benson finishes with a tired exhale. "A report of the mission will be sent to your parents per protocol. They can call my direct line with any questions. Will that be all?"

"Yes?" I ask, or answer, unsurely.

The screen beeps, and the secondary screen with her face disappears, leaving only the blue hologram panel. I imitate what I saw Steve do and hit the yellow orb in the corner, and a strange little series of beeps indicates it's back to it's homepage, or screen saver, or whatever the heck they call these things.

I move out of the way, and Mr. Bucky steps in front of the screen. I hesitate for a moment, and he looks at me, cocking his head.

"Question?" he asks.

"No, no, uh," I pause. "I'm just gonna… I'll see you… later…"

"See you upstairs," he replies slowly, his eyes searching my face.

I turn and walk away from him quickly, determined to look like I know where I'm going. I don't even notice at first that I can't see my feet, there's a white mist streaming in from somewhere, covering the tiled floor up to my ankles -

I look over at a door on the left side of the hallway, and it's a bright white, too white for it to belong to the rest of the doors along the hall, as they are all a matte dark gray.

I walk right past it, shaking my head stubbornly, whispering a "No, no, no…"

I keep walking down the hall. Another door to my right starts to turn white, mist bleeding in at the edges.

No!

I keep walking and every other door begins to turn white in my presence, offering me so many ways out, too many, before I'm ready - before I want to…

Then I see a hallway branch opening to my right, with a sign on the wall.

LIVING QUARTERS

CAFETERIA

RECREATION ROOM

I turn right quickly and trot to try and avoid the white in my peripheral vision. But it grows worse, the white light seems to follow me even faster, jumping ahead of me like it's going to turn a door into a portal into a non-dimension just when I try to go through it, waiting till the last second to trick me…

The hall opens up into a recreation room. Or at least the Stark-invested Avengers version of a rec room. It's huge and circular and built for parties. There's fancy leather couches and low coffee tables, then bigger tables like restaurants around the edges. There's a balcony with huge wooden stairs coming down the edges, the slatted kinds like a fancy seventies house in an old horror movie where all the walls are glass so the killer can look right in. There's a bar off to the left and the multi-colored bottles gleam behind the counter. There's a large plasma screen TV off to the right on the wall, where modern-looking artwork dots what little white wall there is that isn't glass and looking into other rooms. Somewhere above the circular hallway around the edge of the room on the second story, there's glimmers and colors coming from other rooms that look like science labs. Huge amazing labs where some person named Shuri and I supposedly messed with a concoction that we should not have.

I try to act like I've seen it all before, but I can't hide the way my eyes widen or the way I clamp my mouth shut to keep exclamations from jumping out like frogs.

Steve is lounging on the couch, flipping through the channels with the remote. He stops on the news, eyes narrowing at the scrolling headlines.

"So you mastered the remote," I try to strike up a conversation, sitting tentatively at the end of the couch, stuffing my mask into a left pocket on my hip that is way too small for it.

"That's real funny," Steve responds with a sarcastic grin. "Have you mastered a driver's permit?"

I open my mouth for a retort, and have none. "Uh… no. Not yet."

"But you know," Steve adds as an afterthought. "Taking out two of their getaway cars in a blaze of glory was pretty nice."

"You think?" I squeak. "Really?"

"Definitely."

I grin at him. "Thanks."

Suddenly Sam pops out from behind the counter. Not sure how - or why - he was down there for so long, but I don't question it. "Alright, Cap, whatchya drinkin?"

"Whiskey sour for me, please, and thank you," Steve replies.

"You, Squirt?" Sam asks. "We have… uh… lemonade for the underaged."

I grin, surprised at myself. Just chilling with the Avengers… drinking lemonade… it'd be too easy to forget this isn't real. Isn't it? Or is it just… less real than the real I no longer have?

If I'm dead and this is all I have, am I not allowed to accept every part of it and stay as long as I want?

"Sure, thanks," I reply.

"Any scotch left?" Mr. Bucky enters the room, walking over to the bar and sitting in a bar stool.

"Only enough for you and Tony," Sam replies dryly, handing him a bottle with almost nothing in it. "Don't forget to share."

Mr. Stark enters at the other end of the room, walking slowly in a shuffling manner, changed into dark sweatpants and a gray T-shirt. A blue light glows beneath the shirt at his chest, and he has a hand pressed tentatively to his side.

Rhodes walks assuredly behind him, also finally in plainclothes, making sure he doesn't fall over. I'm still in my dumb suit and I'm too embarrassed to ask for the clothes still sitting in the back of Happy's car.

"How are we feeling?" Steve calls back to him.

"Right as rain," Mr. Stark replies with a clenched grin. He slowly wobbles over to the couch, stopping by me. "Scooch," he says. "I'm gonna sit next to you."

I quickly move over to the middle cushion and Mr. Stark gingerly lowers himself down, then lays back in the cushions, heaving a big sigh. Rhodes hands him an ice pack, which he pushes against his side, then sits in an armchair close to us.

Suddenly Mr. Bucky starts talking really animatedly just behind my head, but he doesn't sound like he's talking to us or Sam.

"What do you mean your cover is solid?" he's laughing. "You left us all ALIVE, for one thing."

I shoot a glance over the back of the couch. He's talking on that ear-piece directly behind us, a tray in one hand with our drinks on it.

He hands Mr. Stark a scotch with ice, a glass of lemonade to me, and the whiskey to Steve. "So just how fanatical are the Ultron worshippers?" he asks, a concerned look crossing his face. "Like English crusaders? Really… that's… okay." He nods to Rhodes. "Drink?"

"No thanks," Rhodes replies.

"I hope you are keeping your distance," Bucky says back into his earpiece. "Religious zealots, Sokovian tradition, and a robot who thinks he's a messiah is a bad combination - no, no I'm not being overly worried. I'm just making conversation. I'd like you to come back in one piece, thanks."

Steve and Tony share a look. I glance between the two of them. They're both eavesdropping too. I nervously sip at my lemonade, and then suddenly realize how thirsty I am. I guess this whole inter-dimension travel thing lacks two important normal things… like… remembering to stay hydrated and going to the bathroom. Neither of which I've done since… dying. I think I had some water at Aunt May's, but that was it…

"I just meant be careful," Mr. Bucky says in a low tone. He glances over at me. "Oh, he's fine. You roughed him up pretty good." He pauses. "I yelled at you because you were beating the shit out of him. And it made your cover look good, didn't it?" He pauses and yells over at Mr. Stark. "Tash says she can get us another report by next week."

"Looking forward to it," Mr. Stark says without opening his eyes. He sounds totally unexcited.

"Is that Black Widow?" I ask. "Er… I mean… Ms. Romanov?"

Mr. Bucky nods.

"Tell her thanks," I say.

Mr. Bucky only raises his eyebrows.

"She'll know why," I add.

"Kid says thanks," repeats Mr. Bucky, with another glance at me. "She says you're welcome." He turns away from us and tries to step into a further corner of the room (well, as best as he can in a circular room with no corners). "How long do you think before Kross lets you in with the elite?" he asks in a low voice. "I miss you." When he sees me watching, he grimaces slightly and then returns down the hallway that we entered for better privacy.

"How long do you think those two come out and say they're doing it?" Mr. Stark whispers.

"Doing what?" I ask.

"Four months," Steve replies. Then he stops, looking ashamed. "I mean… I'm not… I'm not placing a wager on my two best friends and their unconfirmed… relationship."

"Oh, I would definitely place a wager," Mr. Stark says.

"Widow and Mr. Bucky?" I squeak. "Really?"

"Hold that thought," Steve grabs the remote again and turns up the volume. "Look who is back on the news."

The scrolling banner at the bottom of the screen starts blaring BREAKING NEWS. I sit forward a little in my seat, chugging down lemonade even more agitatedly.

"Approximately four minutes ago there was a terrorist attack at the United Nations outpost located in St. Petersburg, Russia," the news anchor says in a deep, dramatic tone, his eyes concerned and darting back and forth to read a prompter as fast as he can. "Ameteur videos of the explosion are pouring in - just to forewarn you, graphic content to follow."

A grainy video appears on screen, and it's an old, stone building, when suddenly a huge blast takes out an upper corner, stone chunks and glass flying outwards - and the shapes of three bodies plummeting from an upper story window. The person holding the camera screams and turns to run, brushing by two people wearing hoodies to flee the scene. Then the feed cuts short.

"Police have been using this video to narrow down the search for the suspects," says the anchor, and a still image of the two hooded figures pops up again, a red circle around their heads. "The two figures who stood and watched look to be none other than known terrorists and enemies of the state, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, or as Twitter has dubbed them, the Wonder Twins."

I choke on my lemonade and spit part of it out in a spray. "Wanda Maximoff?" I gasp. "Like - Wanda Wanda? Like SCARLET WITCH Wanda? She's a TERRORIST here?"

There's an awkward silence. "All right," Steve says, jokingly, but looking a little worried. "Who are you, and what have you done with Peter Parker?"

I don't listen to him, I'm too busy staring at the screen with huge eyes.

Scarlet Witch? A terrorist? And she has a twin brother?

As far as I knew, she didn't have a brother in my world.

Or maybe… maybe she did and I just never knew about it. I didn't exactly study who else was on the team, and I only met her once briefly… at the airport fight. And she was pissed off at Mr. Stark for locking her in her room. No one ever mentioned a brother.

"Ugh," Stark sighs, "Like father like daughter."

Oh, she has a Dad now? Who DOESN'T in this world? Did everyone's Dads live here in this universe?

"I guess it's time for me to make a personal visit to Manchester," Mr. Stark sighs and starts to get up.

"Where do you think you're going?" Rhodes reaches across and pushes him back into the couch. "You were shot, dude. Come on."

"And Last time you visited," Steve says, "You and Wolfington tore the damn place apart with your pissing contest."

Stark glares back and forth between Rhodes and Steve. "One, not his name. Two, he's not there. I just wana have a few words with Mr. Clean."

"Absolutely not," Rhodes exclaims, standing up. "You are still recovering. Don't leave that damn couch for the rest of the day. I'll go."

"Don't bench me," Mr. Stark says, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say he was whining.

"I'm the better diplomat anyway," Rhodes continues, straightening his shoulders and pulling car keys from his pocket. "It's about time someone gave me a damn solo mission even if I have to assign it to myself."

Mr. Stark waves his hand tiredly, letting him win this one. "Fine, fine." He reaches over and smacks my leg. "Kid, you're killing me with the costume. Go change."

"Oh, uh, right, yeah, it's just - I forgot," I say, setting my lemonade down on the coffee table. "I'll just… uh… go change… real quick."

I have no idea where I'm supposed to go. I stand up awkwardly and leave the couch circle, looking back at Steve and Mr. Stark. They're both glued to the TV. I start to open my mouth, but…

I can't say goodbye.

I look over at Sam, instead. He has his elbows braced on the counter, slouching, sipping his own lemonade, watching the TV. He notices me and gives me a wink.

"Thanks for the drink," I say quietly. I look over and notice a black sharpie on the counter beside an unused stack of red solo cups. "Can I borrow that pen?" I ask.

"Sure, Squirt," he replies. "Anytime." he picks up the pen and tosses it at me, which I catch deftly in one hand.

It's worth a try…

Although, as soon as Sam's attention is diverted again to the TV, I pull the thirty bucks out of my pocket and leave it at the far end of the counter as I walk out.

I don't know if they all cease to exist when I leave…

Or if he'll find the money and wonder why I gave it back.

I don't know.

But I'm certainly not keeping money for a bet I didn't place. Except for the twenty for the other two…

I sorta wish I had asked which team I bet on, or even what sport, but I guess it doesn't matter, does it? It's a fantasy. All of it.

I turn and start to leave the room. I don't know where to go, so I just go back the way I came…

Every single door is white now. Not some, not just one.

All of them.

The doors are like… a timer. I think that means my time is up.

I glance back into the room and think about calling out, asking them if I can stay, begging them to hear my strange story and helping me find a way to save the other Universe…

But I don't.

I don't think they would get it.

I really think they would call me crazy and send me home to my parents.

In a world with parents, I mean - who wouldn't?

Do I want to see my parents?

Maybe I should try and stay a little longer.

Avoid every door.

Get back in the car with Happy.

Go to a home I don't know.

See my mom… my dad…

But I can't hold on to this forever.

Forever isn't reality.

And not if my non-existent reality feels as if it is wearing thin.

What if Mr. Stark solves the whole Thanos issue and brings us all back to life with time travel and I'm the only one who doesn't come back because I was too busy living these fake lives here?

I walk up to the closest white door in the hall, trying not to lift my feet too high to avoid the white mist slipping out of the edges like a dry ice effect. I put my hand on the spherical knob, twist, and step out…

I feel a strange slamming sensation in my chest, and I feel -

Like me again.

I didn't realize how much of ME was slowly disappearing and replaced by a sort of different alternative me until I was back…

Back in the white mist…

And then I felt myself come together with a sort of slap, my heart pounding in my chest and all the scars - the memories - the me that died - the real me, comes flooding back, and I'm blinking in the light, grayish and muted above, white and foggy below.

A door to my left, and right, and another beside them, and another… stretching for miles and miles and eternity.

My version of eternity, anyway.

The door behind me is shut, but I didn't shut it, nor did I hear it close behind me. Shut on the adventure. Maybe I'll go back. But for now, it feels done. Like I'm supposed to leave it alone.

I look down - the sharpie is still in my hand.

Huh. I guess some objects can cross over.

I tuck away that knowledge for later.

Who knows what… no. Not gonna go there.

With a squeak and a pop, I uncap the pen and write in huge block letters on the white, solid material.

THE ONE WHERE MY PARENTS ARE ALIVE

Then, I walk to the door next to it, the one still bearing some brown scuffs of dried blood.

THE ONE WHERE DR. STRANGE LIVES

Then I cap the pen and tuck it into the right pocket. My suit seems to be… staying normal. It's not playing tricks on my eyes or anything. It's just… my suit. Solid. I got the mask in one pocket, the pen in the other. My only tools in this weird, sickly-hued world… or lack of world.

I go to the door on the other side of Dr. Strange's door. Identical, of course.

I take a deep breath. "You got this, Spider-Man. Let's see what else is out there."

I push it open and step through into a long, twisted hallway, grainy metal floors, walls of dark rods and exposed wires and metals full of glittering buttons and screens with words on it that I cannot read. Confused, I whip my head from side to side, hearing a distinct chugging sound, like engines. I turn around to look at the wall behind me where the white door waits, surprised to find windows on either side of it.

Windows looking out into space.

Space.

I'm on a damn alien ship again.

...

* * *

...

* * *

Coming Next: PART II. Watch this SPACE.

* * *

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	6. Part II: Space - Merry Go Round

PART TWO - SPACE

* * *

Chapter Six

 _Merry Go Round_

* * *

...

…

I slowly pull my mask out of my left pocket and put it on. The shattered eye lens from Widow's double-agent mugging is sort of glitchy, but I can still see through it.

Better safe than sorry. It's one small layer between me and… whatever is waiting for me out there.

"Karen?" I ask quietly, just to check. Nothing.

Not a peep during my adventure on the ground, and nothing now. I guess I don't have an AI in these universes. Or maybe just these two out of a billion.

That's just… great.

I slowly approach the window by the white door. The glass looks thick, like six or seven inches thick… but maybe it's not even glass. Maybe this ship is made out of stuff that doesn't exist in the normal universe. Maybe this clear stuff is called… like… transpara-plasma or invisible metal. I don't know. Could be anything.

I slowly lean closer to the window and I feel my heart pound faster in my chest.

The view is breathtaking.

It's not like the fearful, heart-stopping space outside of Earth's atmosphere. But I guess I never really took too much time to look at it. Mr. Stark and I were too busy fighting the creepy alien dude to rescue Dr. Strange, and then got interrupted by the guys that called themselves The Guardians… which I have to admit, is a pretty cool name.

I guess in the long run it's better to successfully guard something then to only be on hand for avenging everyone after they're already dead.

Mr. Stark was so upset with me for sneaking on board but… I wonder, now, just how much of it was anger, and the rest was worry… about being responsible for me if something goes wrong.

There is a chill coming from the glass. Like a winter in Queens when the bad snow storms start to travel up the East Coast. Aunt May and I would get snowed in and our very badly-insulated windows would let in all the cold, the condensation streaming down the pane if we so much as sighed.

I wonder if Aunt May knows that I am dead yet.

I press one hand against the glass and take in the expanse of space. It's huge and feels empty… not like the flattened 2D image in a photo, or even the best special effects in Star Wars. Space does not feel like a blanket hanging in the furthest background possible to give an illusion of distance. There isn't a background. This is truly eternity, endless black sprinkled with glowing balls of gas.

Below my natural eye-line, there's a huge planet below the ship. The curvature of the globe is the colors of the planet itself look like a cloudy hint of dark gray and brown, with that light blue sheen emanating off of it, hinting at an atmosphere possibly made of oxygen. It's definitely not earth, though.

Maybe it's Asgard! I've never seen Asgard, I only know that's where Thor is from.

Oh my gosh, what if I finally meet Thor? I should probably try not to freak out like a fanboy. That would be my number one priority. I mean, I guess technically I got the hard part out of the way, which is meeting an actual alien. The girl whose name I forgot with antennae growing out of her forehead. Or the big guy who didn't make any sense.

I guess Thanos counts, too.

Now that I've experienced that, meeting Thor shouldn't be so bad.

I step away from the window and take a deep breath. If I stop and think too long and too hard about what happened last time I sort of accidentally-on-purpose went into space, I'll have a panic attack. I don't want to think about that.

I need to focus on something else - like - exploring. Yeah, exploring seems like a good idea.

Another glance out the window doesn't yield any information about whether or not we're traveling in any particular direction. If anything, I'd say myself and this giant ass ship are just floating above this planet. Not even orbiting, just floating.

I begin to trot nervously down the hall. I walk section after section, each glowing with different screens in blue and green. There's also buttons. Large, obnoxiously colored ones. There's pinstripes on some pieces of the gray hall panels, even little graffiti flames on another section. Unlike the smooth, flawless white of Princess Leia's ship in Star Wars, or the cardboard and carpet look of Star Trek, this ship is leaning more along the lines of the Aliens tech, where the movie sets looked like old military built pieces welded together. Every so often a seam is lined with the yellow and black stripes of a hazardous step, or a glowing orange light rotates in a circle like a warning for an unauthorized area.

I stop and look at one of the screens. There are words scrolling by steadily in a language I don't know or understand. It's definitely alien, the letters are fluid but boxy, sort of like Mandarin, but with a lot less strokes. It's looks more like English punctuation. Dots and commas.

I reach for the screen for a second, and freeze with my fingers a centimeter from the screen.

Wait. Heck no. If I am on the spaceship of a dangerous alien - what if I touch the screen and it alerts the whole crew I'm here?

What if this was Thanos's ship? I mean, the guy has to get around SOMEHOW - wait - what if there is no Thanos in this world? What if this is the universe where, like, the Titans are the good guys? And they all weren't totally dead and their abandoned planet wasn't where my ashy remains sit in a sand pile?

I shudder and quickly withdraw my hand.

I square my shoulders and keep walking. I notice that the floor is shifting slightly - the walls, too. Not with movement, I mean, but the construction of it. It's not a hall built in a straight line. It has too many panels that sit inside an indent in the wall, but the other side of the indent does not come out quite as far, making the walls uneven.

Some of the grating on the floor grows narrower, and larger, and narrow again.

It's curving. The hallway is slowly but surely moving to the right.

I pass a lot of doors. Some of them huge and gray, like blaster doors on the Death Star, with a diagonal line cutting it across the middle, probably sliding two large triangle pieces to each side when someone needs to exit. They're only ever on the right side, never the left.

Sometimes I pass a small, rectangular white door, icy mist pooling at it's frame.

I ignore those.

But it makes me feel a little better knowing I have possible exits.

I get to another section with windows. This time, windows on both sides. I race to the left, looking out to see the same planet I saw before. No change there, it looks like the ship is still relatively in the same spot.

Then I trot over to the window on the right. This view is entirely different, and it solves the dilemma of the curving hallway.

The ship is shaped like a wagon wheel. I guess it's sort of like the one that kidnapped Dr. Strange, but that one flew vertically. This one stays horizontal. Er at least, relatively horizontal, since there's no horizon line in space… I mean, there's some sort of gravity working here, so I don't feel like I'm walking sideways or upside down. Just… normal.

The different hallways jutting out of the doors I've seen on my right are moving towards the center like wheel spokes. In the center where the axle would be, there's a giant, spherical pod, coated dark gray with a 360 view set of tiny windows along the top. Maybe that's the cockpit? It would be the ideal spot for it, in a small globe with great visibility and the rest of the ship circling where you sit like Saturn's rings.

I mean, it's a pretty cool ship, but, what the hell am I doing here?

What sort of alternative life is this?

I feel an instantaneous clamor of deadly alarm in my spider-senses, jolting all over the place and every hair on my body standing on end. It's coming from the hallway I've been walking down, from the same direction I came from.

I whip my body around defensively, realizing already it's too late to hide, as whomever-whatever-it-is is rounding the corner NOW -

The dark outfit looks like -

The metal arm looks like -

Mr. Bucky again - but, not Mr. Bucky.

There's something very different about him.

He's dressed for war. Every inch of him covered in thick black clothing, a bullet proof vest, his metal arm glinting with the reflection of the ship's myriad of technology color, heavy military boots, a massive alien gun as big as myself is in his gloved hands - pointing right at me.

He stops short and looks at me in shock and surprise. His hair is chin length, his eyes glittering with murder and strangely lined with heavy smudges of dark makeup.

The eeriest thing of all is the entire lower half of his face is covered by a chin-fitting mask. It looks like he's about to rob a bank or cosplay as that one comic book villain that blew up a stadium. Ned would remember his name.

"Whoa!" I exclaim, holding up my hands very slowly, defensively. "D-d-d-don't shoot! Don't shoot! It's me! It's ME? Hey… uh… hi? Mr. Bucky?"

There's a transparent yellow cord winding in, around, and through the gun pulsing with some sort of crazy liquid energy. I have no doubt this gun could incinerate me where I stand. The grip and the barrel of the overly large, square shaped weapon is painted bright purple, though, so kinda fun. I mean would be if it wasn't pointed at me.

Mr. Bucky tilts his head and appraises me, gun still pointed at me, his eyes squinting as he…

I would almost think he's trying to place me, and can't.

"Who the hell is Mr. Bucky?" he asks.

I realize almost too late he's being rhetorical. He doesn't expect me to answer.

"Uh oh," I bleat out, just as he raises the massive barrel to his eyeline like a sniper and squeezes one eye shut.

The weapon makes the horrible, ear-splitting sound of a blender crunching huge ice cubes; and amidst the shrieking roar of the mechanisms I'm already diving sideways. I roll to the side of the hall and scramble to my feet, lifting my head to see a huge plasma-blast erupting right where my body had been. It looked like a bubble of energy had popped like a water balloon, sticky yellow pieces lying in heaps on the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. They're steaming.

I don't stand there long enough to admit how fascinating the alien tech is, I'm too busy bolting down the hallway as fast as my short legs can take me. If only there was an end to this hallway that I could see - if I could at least see a dead end, I could shoot a stream of web down to the end, hit the reel option, and get ZINGED down the hall at whatever high speed I deemed fit!

But that's not gonna happen -

I know this hall goes in a circle, now, a giant one - maybe an entire two, three miles in circumference - so if Mr. Bucky isn't chasing me, he could be waiting for me to make it full circle and run into him again, only this time I'd be exhausted from running three miles.

I should probably take one of the right exits down the spokes to the cockpit.

Because if Mr. Bucky is here, who else might be here?

When I get to the next double blaster doors, slate gray and unyielding to my fists pummeling the metal, I skid over to the control panel and start hitting every button.

"Come on, come on, come on!" I shriek, smacking them all, my spider-senses jolting to say that Mr. Bucky was seconds from walking around the exaggerated curve and have a clear line of sight for me -

The doors suddenly groan open, and I hear the horrible, high-pitched crunching sound of a blender. I throw myself through the doors and hear the SPLAT of something huge exploding behind me with wet, slapping pieces.

I feel something slimy touch the back of my calf. I nearly trip, but the pain is dull - more annoying, even, than it is debilitating - I can still run, and now I'm in the different hall -

This one is straight and heading right for the cockpit.

I only take a second to glance down and see one of those rubbery, yellow things stuck to the back of my leg. It really looks like a popped balloon, and it burns like - well, like stomach acid, when you've thrown up too much and there's nothing else to throw up.

"What the heck! Gross!" I exclaim, not wanting to touch it with my hands, even suited up, to see if it'll come off just by tugging it. I'm gonna stick it out for now.

I send a web string out, and it sails on and on and lands on the floor, falling short of the end. I groan with disappointment and keep running, needing to me closer.

My leg is starting to feel buzzy and tingly, like a sunburn. Shit.

I catch a glimpse of Mr. Bucky entering the door behind me, raising his gun again -

I leap high into the air, catching the ceiling above me with my hands and swinging myself up so that I am kneeling. A huge, nasty yellow bubble of steaming acid slams the floor right where I was, exploding in pieces like wet pumpkin shell. Good thing I decided to come up here instead of ducking…

I start crawling as rapidly as I can, skirting along the ceiling like the bug that I am, zig zagging ever so slightly to throw off Mr. Bucky's aim.

My leg is starting to go numb.

Closer to the entrance to the cockpit now, which I can see isn't exactly a door, but more like the entrances on the Millenium Falcon to the quads where they keep the laser cannons. At the end of the tall is an opening that leads into a tube, and in that tube is a ladder so you can go up or down.

I hear the blender sound again, and fighting the urge to just clap my hands over my ears, I send a webstream to the ladder - nailing it perfectly with a splatter and a spider-web fraying at the edges - and I let go and hit reel.

I detach from the ceiling and zoom down the hall at a ridiculous speed, my feet sliding on the floor like it's an ice rink, the friction burning in my heels - but the decision was worth it -

I slam into the ladder inside the tube.

Down, there's darkness.

Up, there's light - and my spider-senses tell me - movement of another person.

Not just any person, I think, when I smell a recognizable cologne.

Mr. Stark!

I move hand over hand to get up the ladder, but not before the screech and crushing, bashing, horrible crunch of that damn gun again - and something hot and sticky explodes on my back like I'm a coach getting dumped with a barrel of yellow gatorade.

"YUCK!" I scream, the buzzing and numbing almost instantaneous, but I have just enough time to scramble up the last of the ladder to a small, circular door above me like a manhole.

I hit it with all the force of one fist, and it pops out of place, whatever hinge it had breaking clean off, sending it up into the cockpit with a whistle as it spins out of sight.

"JESUS CHRIST, BARNES!" Tony Stark's voice erupts angrily.

I tuck my elbows over the edge and onto the floor, pulling myself up. The floor is black marble like a replica of the night sky, and all around me are the windows with the 360 view I had spotted before. Underneath all the windows are control panels, far more elaborate than the ones that controlled the doors or were stuck strategically throughout the hall. There's levers, vents, buttons, touch screens, cranks, things that look like gear shifts…

There's several space-age looking chairs, black ones with high backs, placed around the room in a circle, one for each different station.

One of the chairs has swiveled around, and Tony Stark is sitting in it, looking totally pissed. He's dressed in a blue shirt and black pants, a glowing reactor visible in his chest through the fabric.

"Peter Benjamin Parker," Mr. Stark says slowly, drawing out each syllable as if using my middle name is supposed to punish me more. "What the actual ever-loving effing hell are you doing here?"

I am starting to lose my grip on the floor, and my legs are not cooperating, trying to step the rest of the way up the ladder.

"Mr. Bucky shot me!" I gasp, my mouth even becoming slightly slack, my words growing garbled. "Ammmiiii gonna die agaaaaain?"

"Good grief!" he exclaims, annoyed. By the rolling of his eyes, I can instantly tell this yellow honey-like substance all over me is definitely not deadly. He stands up out of the chair so quickly it spins aimlessly for a moment behind him.

I hear Mr. Bucky on the ladder below me and panic. "GETMEUP, GIRRRMEEUP," I screech. Drool falls out of one corner of my mouth and I can't even stop it.

"Yeah, sure, I'll help you, Jello Shot," Mr. Stark leans down and grasps me by the forearms, lifting me out of the hole and then shoving me without much kindness down onto the floor beside it. I lay there like a beached whale, unable to move, my hands curled into my chest and my legs splayed out like a dissected frog. Mr. Stark pulls off my mask and looks at me, eyes narrow.

"WhAAARTTTTTSSSS UP!" I blare like a foghorn.

He blinks rapidly in response and tucks my mask in my hand, which I realize, is frozen stiff exactly how it was a minute ago. "Oh, nothing much, how are you?" he responds.

My eyes widen at his sarcasm. "PLEASH TULL MEH WHAATSHUP!"

Seconds later, Mr. Bucky's head pops up, and he looks at me, then at Mr. Stark, then at me, confusedly. I'm guessing he's never seen my face in this universe.

"Easy, Barnes," Mr. Stark says. "He's one of MY kids." He looks down at me with a sigh. Then, weirdly, he completely ignores me, doesn't pester me with questions or answer any of mine, and walks back to the chair he had vacated. He sits in it and twirls it absently for a second.

One of his kids? How many kids are in the Avengers in this universe?

Mr. Bucky's eyes soften slightly, but are still confused. First he lifts the massive gun out of the hole and sets it down on the floor beside him, and then crawls the rest of the way up. Then he looks around confusedly for the cover, and finds it beneath one of the consoles on the other side of the round room. Stalking back to the manhole, he slams the cover back in and twists it, till something clicks.

Then, and only then, does he remove his mask from the lower half of his face.

"Nice to know that perimeter patrol you insisted on did us a lot of good, you know, for protection and all," Mr. Stark grunts, his back to us. He twirls the chair again. "Good thing he wasn't an alien monster or something worse."

"The kid is fast," Mr. Bucky replies in a monotone. He ignores his gun on the floor and goes over to the chair beside Mr. Stark, sitting next to him.

"And you let the lil' parasite right in," Mr. Stark quips back, glancing back at me.

I want to protest - exclaim - I AM NOT A PARASITE - but no words come. My lips flap together, and more drool comes out.

Mr. Stark looks sympathetic, but only for a moment. "Son," he says gravely, "I'm afraid you're nothing but a piece of gum for the time being. Your speech will be back in - oh - say - three minutes or so. Depends on how much your super-healing powers effect Barnes's favorite new toy."

I feel super hot, wet, and tingly, like I have a bad fever and peed myself. "BLAAAAH," I respond.

"Oh, much faster for you, Spider-Boy," Mr. Stark laughs.

Even Mr. Bucky cracks a slight smile, but quickly sobers. "Sorry, kid," he says, turning his chair to me, "I didn't know you were one of us."

"UHH HUH," I say, and this time, I feel some feelings in my hands return. I wriggle my fingers and they buzz like they're recovering from hypothermia.

Mr. Bucky turns to Stark and says in a low voice, assuming that I can't hear him. "Have I met this one before?"

"Uh, no, you have not." Mr. Stark looks at me. "Kid, Winter Soldier. Winter Soldier, meet the Kid. Otherwise known as Spider-Man."

"Pooter Parble," I try to introduce myself, but it doesn't come out exactly right.

Mr. Stark can't even laugh. He looks up the sky and whispers dramatically, "There is a god. I will never forget this."

"He called me Mr. Bucky," Mr. Bucky persists, still looking perturbed about it.

"Oh that's… that's your nickname. Bucky. You know. Like a thing your friends call you?"

Mr. Bucky gazes at him steadily, and then realization dawns on his face. "James Buchanan Barnes," he repeats. "Bucky must be short for Buchanan."

"Ding, ding, ding!" Mr. Stark says, slamming a random button on the console. Nothing happens. "Points for Barnes." He looks back at him, looking a little bit more… tender. "When we get back to Earth," he says, "Captain America will explain everything."

"Because he and I are friends?" Mr. Bucky asks - or, I guess - just Bucky. He nods for confirmation. "Best friends. And he knew me before…"

"Oh, yeah, pal, way before you were iced and turned into a mindless weapon for our government. He'll be able to catch you up on… a lot."

There's an awkward silence.

"Thank you, again," Bucky says. "That will help very much."

After a pause, Mr. Stark calls over his shoulder at me. "How are you feeling over there, Pooter?"

I can't answer yet, I flap my dead arms from side to side, instead.

He looks at Bucky. "Should we have some mercy and help him up?"

My feet regain movement, now, and I kick around awkwardly like a seal trying to lumber along the edge of the dock to throw myself off the end of it.

"Your call," Bucky replies, perfectly seriously.

"All right, let's get him in a chair," Mr. Stark sighs. "Then we need to have a serious chat."

…

...

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...

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Coming Next: Sitting in dead space on a dead ship, Peter finally has some answers. Maybe more than he wanted.

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Please leave a review :)


	7. Part II: Space - Danger Will Robinson

PART TWO - SPACE

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Chapter Seven

 _Danger Will Robinson_

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...

…

Mr. Stark groans like an old man when he gets out of his chair. He and Bucky each grab an arm and hoist me into the air, dumping me into one of the chairs closest to them, and then Mr. Stark gives it an extra spin for good measure.

I feel like I'm gonna be sick. "NOooooo," I bawl loudly.

Bucky stops the chair with a reproachful look at Stark. "The stuff might not kill him," he says evenly, "But I don't want to be vomited on."

"Oh, good point," Mr. Stark sits across from me and rests his elbows on his knees, slamming his hands together like a prayer, his two pointer fingers a church steeple at his lips.

"So tell me, kid," he says sternly, "Do you regret sneaking on board yet? At all? I'm feeling forgiving and willing to hear your apologies now."

I gum my mouth together for a moment, trying to find the words. The stuff is drying, maybe even dissipating, and my body doesn't feel wet anymore, just overly hot. Hard to form real words though.

"So what was it?" Mr. Stark persists. "A botched rescue mission? Did you stowaway the other ship the whole damn time? What happened?"

"Other ship?" I manage. "WHAT other ship?"

Bucky and Mr. Stark glance at each other curiously.

"The ship Stark came to Sakaar on," Bucky explains slowly. "We assumed you… I mean… you're from Earth."

"I took my ship out of Earth's atmosphere," Mr. Stark explains in baby tones like he's reciting the alphabet to a dunce. "And I landed on Sakaar to find Banner and Thor. Ran into this ice-bucket and thought, what the hell, Steve's been looking for him for years, might as well rescue him too and…"

He realized I'm staring at him, wide-eyed and sort of fanboy-delighted, because is the first time I'm hearing the personal history of THIS universe.

"You didn't know about any of this, did you?" he asks in shock.

"Nope," I blurt. "I didn't!"

"Then how did you get here?" he continues, looking a little freaked out.

"I think it was the aliens," I say slowly, my words coming out clearer now. "No - it definitely was. There was this big one, right? Totally RUINED my life - literally - and before I know it there's a door and I'm here…"

I really, REALLY gloss over the whole Thanos thing.

While the other Mr. Stark and I conveniently had a premonition-potion-experiment gone wrong to explain my death, I doubt that would be a coincidence I get twice.

"So the aliens kidnapped you too," Bucky says kindly.

Uh… oops… no… not yet anyway.

"Yeah, yeah," I falter, my voice growing raspy with the lie. "I guess?"

"Jesus, I'm sorry, kid," Mr. Stark reaches over and musses my hair. "I was all - well, really pissed… I thought you snuck on board and followed us here and put yourself in harms way just to help with the mission… which would have been totally idiotic and irresponsible."

I squirm uncomfortably. That's what I did in my real universe exactly… was the real Mr. Stark really mad at me about it? Did he blame me for putting my death on his conscience because I could have chosen to use the parachute in the first place?

His eyebrows furrow. "And better for you if you hadn't CHOSEN to be here. Then I wouldn't kill you - your Aunt May definitely would." He looks away. "And she'll kill me if anything happens to you."

"What about my parents?" I ask.

It's like all the air gets sucked out of the room. Mr. Stark's face goes really pale.

"Jesus, Peter," he scoots his chair closer to me, looking me all over like he expects to see a facehugger from Aliens clamped onto the back of my head. "Kid," he says, very slowly, and kindly, "Your parents… your parents are dead. Do you not remember?"

Bucky looks away uncomfortably.

"No, no, I do," I exclaim quickly, before Mr. Stark gets too torn up. "I just… I got confused. I didn't mean it. I was… out for a while, woke up thinking I was in like a different timeline or something. Like time travel. You never know what'll change. I was just double-checking!"

Mr. Stark breathes a sigh of relief. "Ah… no, no, same timeline, same old shit. Dr. Strangeglove is probably the only douchebag who gets to travel up and down the line and see his folks before they bit the dust." He gives Bucky a look. "Not trying to drudge up old sins or anything…"

Bucky shifts uneasily. "I know."

Mr. Stark gives me a slightly bitter look. "He offed my parents."

I open my mouth to respond and - I got nothing. Nothing.

"But, uh, we've had that talk already. Bygones," Mr. Stark says hesitantly. "Really heavy… bygones, given this poor bastard had a chip in his head controlling everything and couldn't help himself. But bygones they are." He clears his throat with an exaggerated cough and turns to the console awkwardly. "Still nothing out there. No movement, no nothing."

"So you said you're looking for Dr. Banner and Thor on Sakaar?" I ask, trying to change the subject as quickly as possible. "Is Sakaar the planet below us?"

"It is," Bucky replies.

"Oh SPEAKING of Sakaar, by the way," Mr. Stark beams with a fake grin. "Smile, you're on candid camera."

"Huh?" I ask.

"The Grandmaster put Stark and I on this godforsaken ship," Bucky explains, also eager to shift the conversation away from his previous murders. "And he's broadcasting our struggles for all to see. For the amusement of his people."

"We're on camera?" I squeak. "Really?"

"Oh, yes," Stark snaps sarcastically. "Tune in next week for Keeping up with the Wakandans."

"That's really messed up," I say, looking around nervously. "I don't see any cameras."

"You won't," Bucky assures. "Already combed the place. Set off a couple of traps set to make things interesting for the audience, but, their cameras are either well hidden or you need a microscope to see them."

"The Grandmaster used to use this one before he upgraded to a much nicer looking ship," Mr. Stark goes on, annoyingly, "...and hosted parties and recorded his orgi-uhhhhhhh...organic. Materials. Organic gardening. Yes."

It's a very poor save. I sigh and roll my eyes. "I know what an orgy is."

"Nope, nope, we're skipping this part," Stark erupts. "I refuse to have this conversation with a fifteen year old. Either way…" he waves his hand. "We were captured trying to escape from Sakaar and put up here. He said we have a week to try and make it fly, or he was bringing us back to the surface… either shooting us down, or beaming us down and sentencing us there. Sort of a lose-lose."

"Uh… how long have you been up here?"

"Six days. We have one more."

"We haven't been able to make any of the technology work," Bucky adds.

"But the Hulk could probably get us out, right? Like, blast a hole in the side?" I ask. I glance around, as if expecting to find Dr. Banner popping out of one of the chairs whose backs was still turned towards us. "Where is he?"

"Oh, we didn't FIND them on Sakaar, I forgot to mention that," Mr. Stark sighs. "They already left before we got there. Thor and Banner are the new dream team, so they say." He sounds a little huffy, like he's jealous. I knew they were close friends, but it's kind of funny to see anyone acting jealous when they're trying not to be obvious about it.

"Uh," I say carefully, "So why do you need Dr. Banner and Thor so badly?"

"Why else?" Mr. Stark chuckles grimly. "The world is in trouble! We need Earth's Mightiest Heroes back together again."

Bucky gives the console an annoyed once-over, as if expecting to find that one of the buttons finally makes sense. "If we could get there…"

"Is it Thanos?" I ask meekly, dreading the answer. "Did Thanos attack?"

Mr. Stark looks at me worriedly. "Who hell is Thanos?"

"Oh, uh, no one," I wave my hand. "Just some jackass I met once."

"Oh, no, this jackass is called Hela, goddess of death," Mr. Stark sighs. "She took out Asgard and moves on Earth next." He looks at me curiously. "I'm surprised headquarters hasn't updated you on any of this. Where the HELL have you been?"

I gesture around the ship with a sheepish expression. "Oh, I dunno, sorta getting dumped in space by other-worldly forces? I don't exactly have cell service up here."

"Smart ass," Mr. Stark says affectionately, swiveling back to the consoles. "Well, I have a hell of a lot more motivation now for living through this and getting out of here."

"How so?" Bucky asks dryly, his expression clearly wondering why their own lives weren't enough motivation already.

Mr. Stark jets a thumb back towards me. "You have not met his attractive aunt. If I come back without him, she will murder me very, very slowly. If you come back without me, Pepper will do the same to you."

"Really?" I say. "Ms. Potts always seemed so… you know. Nice."

"Yeah, well, she borrowed a few suits and some magical powers once," Mr. Stark says crisply. "I don't want to say she got a taste for violence, but I am not gonna push it."

The ship gives a sudden groan, and a shudder. Somewhere, something clanks and clatters very loudly, as if someone dropped a whole bunch of cookware on a metal floor.

The room jolts like it was bumped with something.

"That's not good," Bucky says.

"What the HELL was that?" Mr. Stark stands quickly, looking over the dash to see out the windows. "What'd we hit?"

"I've seen this movie and it never ends well," I squeak, standing up and shaking out my limbs a little bit. I can definitely move better now, and the yellow nasty stuff has definitely dried and dissipated. I still feel like I have a sunburn under the suit, though, which itches like crap. I retug my mask over my face. "Let's go see what it is!"

"Not so fast," Mr. Stark says, just as Bucky's metal fist snakes out and grasps my forearm with an iron grip.

"Hold up," he says simultaneously. "This ship is rigged with all kinds of… toys. Don't go dashing off to investigate."

"And when he says TOYS, he doesn't mean Legos," Mr. Stark says, hitting a few buttons. Nothing seems to happen.

"Ha, ha," I say dryly. Ned and I having fun with Legos was contained to a very small circle in my old life, just myself, Ned, May, and Ned's parents. I must be an even bigger nerd here than I was there to share with anyone, including Mr. Stark of all people.

There's a buzz on the console, and a screen turns from green to red, flashing, with several dots blinking in succession. It's changing shape and growing smaller.

"Uh, Mr. Stark, what does this mean?" I ask nervously. "It sort of looks like uh…"

"There's a breach in the western docking bay," Bucky recites quickly. "Looks like the hull door opened on it's own." He looks at Stark. "It's sucking the air out of this damn thing."

"Shit," Mr. Stark replies, grabbing at a lever beside the screen and yanking on it. It won't budge.

"Is that what controls the hull door?" I ask shrilly.

"One can hope!" Mr. Stark replies urgently. "This whole thing is guesswork. All of it."

From a glowing half-sphere the size of a tennis ball in the console, a hologram of an older man is suddenly shimmering over it. Instead of showing up on a flat screen, it's projected in 3D, every strange feature of this person emphasized like the exact opposite of Princess Leia asking Obi Wan Kenobi for help. He has a large nose, a winning smile, and slicked back, light hair. While the hologram is only from the torso up, I can tell he has a flair for style in a weird, alien-fashion, and painted stripes down his chin.

His smile beams at us all.

"Oh, no, look there, a breach in the hull sucking all the air out," he repeats cruelly in a slow, sarcastic drawl, like he's reciting lines from a very badly written play. "Whatever shall we do? Gentlemen? Ideas, anyone, before the ship is blasted to - ah, smithereens, shall we say, and you're drowning in space?"

"Bring us the hell down," Mr. Stark says urgently. "We've got a child on board, you hear me? If there's a beating heart or two in that oddly fashioned chest of yours, let us work this out with you - we got a kid…"

Oh, that must be the Grandmaster. He looks like sort of a long and lean professor from a prestigious university trying to dress in drag without knowing was drag actually is.

"Oh, oh, oh, a child! You Say! On board, my vessel!" he reacts just as I thought he might. Mock surprise. "What a cattywampus we find ourselves in, my goodness, all for the sake of the - uh - televised debut of my favorite new drama - what are we calling it?" He leans to someone off screen. "Oh, drowning in space…? That's what we went with?"

"Tell us how to close the goddamn door!" Bucky snarls.

"I'd start by just trying all the buttons," the Grandmaster suggests, smiling delightedly.

I step over to the console and hit a bunch of buttons.

"Oh, no, wait, not that one," he drones. "Oh - not that one either!"

Suddenly a bunch of flashing colored lights lower from the roof above us, and a disco music starts playing loudly from a speaker over by Bucky's right hand.

"Or that one," the Grandmaster chuckles boredly. "My my isn't it - isn't it delightful when children have the imagination and curiosity to try anything… it's heartwarming, isn't it?"

"I'll do whatever you want," Mr. Stark says, looking at the console. There's less than ten dots in the row - a row of ten keeps scrolling by in succession like a slot machine. Then it jumps down to nine. I think each row lasts a minute. I think it was at eleven or twelve when it started.

It's a countdown.

"I'll give you tech, I've got knowledge," Mr. Stark shouts. "I can help you, make you more powerful - that's what you like, isn't it? The power? The fear of your people? What about that, huh?"

"I uh, regret to inform you it's not really - ah, something, I'm all that interested in," the Grandmaster lets out bored yawn with an exaggerated pat of his hand over his mouth.

"Tony," Bucky says warningly. "Let's get to the door and try it manually."

"We have nine minutes," I say.

They look at me. "How do you know that?" Stark asks.

I point at the screen. "It's counting down."

"Shit," Mr. Stark jumps to his feet and slams his hand on his chest. Pieces of suit start to slide out from insides of his military boots, his wristwatch, his belt. They whir and clamp into place, expanding and unfolding like a Transformer.

"Race you there, Optimus!" I smack my hand against his red and gold armored chest with an unfortunate CLANK and race for the hatch, twisting the top and breaking it out again. I toss it over my shoulder, feeling the heavy thud, thud of Mr. Stark's armored feet and Bucky's superhuman dash not far behind.

I drop feet first down the hole, nearly plunging too far down into the darkness of the lower half of the sphere, catching the edge of the floor from the hall I came from with only the tips of my fingers. I scramble up, feet skittering, pulling myself into the hall that leads back to the ring around the ship. I race for the open end at the T, and the thrustors in Mr. Stark's suit swiftly jet him alongside me.

"Right or left?" I gasp.

"Right, kid, but for the love of all, on my six," he snarks. His rockets give an extra whine and blast of energy and he pulls ahead, flying horizontally through the middle of the hall, the repulsors blowback are hot in my face. Bucky runs alongside me, keeping pace, and with a side grin at me, he pulls ahead quickly, staying closer to Stark's other side.

When Iron-Man swoops around a curve in the hall, he stops at one of the right hand blaster doors, stuffing his hands in the crack between them and sliding them apart, the metal keening and groaning horribly under the strain.

When the doors are open enough, he jolts his helmet towards the opening, his elbows shaking with strain. "Get in the elevator," he says.

I slip under his arms and jump inside, Bucky quickly after me. He braces his metal arm against the doors, allowing Stark inside, and then letting go.

The doors slam shut, and the lift drops down with a very short, sudden lurch.

"How thick are the rings?" I ask breathlessly.

"Three levels," Bucky steadies his breathing, definitely having more training on his side for the whole sprinting thing.

"So the middle level has the spokes going to the cockpit in the center?" I ask. "And the lower spokes?"

"Hangers, storage, escape pods," Bucky recites.

"Escape pods!" I repeat. "So why aren't we?"

"EMPTY spaces for escape pods," Bucky answers quickly, an apologetic look crossing his face.

The elevator lands clumsily, everyone knocked off balance with the force of it. Iron Man sticks his hands where the metal is bent out of whack already, finding it easier to pull the doors apart. This time, they grind even louder, and stay open without help.

The three of us dash through, hanging another right. The hallway down here is only the lower level of the same hall above, so it's shaped a little differently, but still moving in a long circle. Instead of having doors every few feet for other rooms, those spaces don't have walls or doors, so the hallway feels wider and more open. Only the elevator sticks out in a boxy shape, which recedes quickly into the distance as Bucky and I run, and Iron Man flies.

Iron Man lands a few feet ahead, his helmet eyes glowing electric blue, and he stops at a door. It's not on the left or right, but blaster doors with wide, glass windows inside. They're cutting off the hallway entirely.

On the other side, I can see movement, and hear something like a shrill whistling.

Bucky starts coughing. "How we doing on oxygen?" he asks.

"It's low," Mr. Stark replies. "This place isn't airtight. The more gets stucked out of that hanger…" he didn't finish.

Another pair of doors slams shut behind us. Now the hallway is cut off at the front and the back, leaving us in nothing but a ten foot square opening.

"Shit," Bucky hisses, trying to open the doors. It doesn't work, they remain steadfast and solid. He starts punching with his metal arm, slowly denting at the seam, working his armored fingers into the space and trying to use brute force to push them back open.

Mr. Stark runs to the control panel beside the hanger doors, looking at the exposed wires. "I'm just gonna start cutting shit if nothing looks like real engineering," he announces to us in a dry, cataclysmic sigh.

With Bucky at the hall doors, and Stark by the hanger controls, I go to the doors beside Mr. Stark to look through the windows.

I can see into the hanger, which expands the hall on either side by several feet, a sort of wide box clinging to the underside of the rings. The floor is wide and metal, and on the other side of the room, I see matching pairs of doors - one to continue the hall we're in to get back to the ring, the other above a catwalk. If I had kept going forward when Bucky was chasing me earlier, I probably would have reached the doors to that catwalk, and would've gotten trapped in the hanger when it opened…

I shudder and smash my face against the glass to look deeper inside the hanger. Off to the right, I can see where the outer bay doors are wide open, cold space sucking out anything that isn't nailed down. Drums of fuel, crates, tools… some of the tinier ships docked inside are slowly starting to skid across the metal floor, only chain restraints from their landing gear to the wall are keeping them from flying out into the void. I'm sure it's an insult to Bucky and Mr. Stark's intelligence to assume that those ships could be used for escape. After living trapped on this thing for six days, I am sure they checked to see if those ships were as dead as the big one.

"Hey, kid," Mr. Stark says, sparks flying out of the control panel he just fiddled with "You're gonna want to web up to something, I don't know what any of these things control..."

The doors to the hanger snap open, and my whole body is whisked inside like someone tied a rope around my waist and tied the other end around a runaway horse.

"SHIT!" I hear Mr. Stark, but the doors quickly snap shut again, cutting off any effective reply.

I send a stream of web quickly to the doors and hit the reel simultaneously, which jerks me forward in mid-air, the scream of the wind sucking things out all around me.

I duck quickly to the side to avoid a huge silver tarp flying out past me. There's locker doors standing open with broken locks, and crap are flying out of them every which way, while I dangle at the end of my web like a very unfortunate jet ski on air. Or fleeing air.

It's also a lot harder to breathe.

Every vent and duct in this hanger is having air sucked out of it from the open bay with shrieking whistles, pulling oxygen from everywhere else in the ship. Intense pain is throbbing in my ears, squealing in and out with high pressurized air. There's another conflicting pressure waging war, a deadened silence, the ice cold, stabbing pains from the open bay doors, like thrusting ice picks through my collar bones and into my lungs below. I feel the lenses on my mask fizzing and widening, and with a horrified flashback, I remember the exact same sensation when I clung to donut-ship of the Voldemort guy.

I recognize now the symptoms of suffocation.

My web is pulled taut, the doors into space pulling at me like bad hurricane footage on the news, and I smack the reel option a few more times. Slowly, the web siphons back into the wrist shooter, tugging me closer and closer to the doors.

Mr. Stark glances through again, eyebrows furrowed, darting back to the control panel, back to the windows, and back to the panel. He's trying to get them back open for me.

My breath is coming out shorter and shorter. There's less to inhale each time. I finally get back to the doors, sticking my feet to the floor.

I glance over my shoulder and see one of the restraints break, and one of the smaller cruiser ships gets gulped out of the bay and into space.

I try to take a deep breath and I can't. I use one hand to grasp my mask, pulling it off my face. My brain logic pointing out this won't help me breathe any easier, my desperation begging otherwise.

This isn't… fun anymore.

I look for a white door.

There's nothing behind me, only a matching pair of sealed doors on the other side. I crane my neck and check the doors on either side of the catwalk above - both solid black.

I swivel my head back and meet Tony Stark's panicked gaze.

My vision is starting to go, and I realize I'm holding my breath. If I let it out and try to inhale again, I don't think I'll get anything. That'll be my last chance.

I look past Tony Stark's shoulder and see the door that Bucky was struggling with is now glowing white, the fog leaking through the seam he works on bending aside with his super strength.

My eyes flick back to Mr. Stark's, horror throbbing in my stomach, a migraine pounding at my temples. His mouth is moving, and I can barely hear him. I think he's saying "Hang on, kid, we'll get you out. Just hang on."

My ears are ringing with a body-slam of fear and adrenaline.

I'm cut off from my escape out of this world.

I can't hold my breath any longer and I open my mouth and take inhale loudly, with a shuddering, grinding gasp.

There's nothing left to breathe.

…

...

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...

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Coming Next: Well all seems lost, critical choices and blind, blind luck leads to a familiar melting-pot planet...

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	8. Part II: Space - Override

PART TWO - SPACE

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Chapter Eight

 _Override_

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...

…

Nothing expands my lungs.

I feel my eyes roll back in my head, my body slackening, mouth hanging open like a fish. My grip on the web loosens, and the wind pulls, like I'm a tiny flag planted in someone's garden. What is left of the strand is straining heavily, taut from my wrist shooter to the web on the door.

I watch my dead body flail at the end of the web like a dead -

Wait.

I look down and I don't really see anything. But I'm definitely watching myself from… outside of myself. Is this an out of body experience? Isn't this entire THING already an out of body experience? Can one have an out of body experience WITHIN an out of body experience? What if this happens a third time? It's like reverse Inception, going outside the layers of the brain until I'm spread so thin and there's a bunch of versions of my dead self across the galaxy.

Uh, no. That can't be it. Even for my life, that's too weird.

My visibility feels confused - first it is dark with unconsciousness, then it's light, white with… mist? Steam? Is it the fog from the door?

I'm watching from the wrong side. I feel like I'm standing next to Bucky, looking at them from the windows of the first hall. But everything is sort of transparent and watery. Is it like a game where I've finally leveled up from dead in the afterlife to ghost status? Can I haunt anywhere I want now? Does that mean I can go back to my universe - my ORIGINAL universe - and haunt Mr. Stark and Aunt May and tell them I'm going to be okay? Even if I'm not, and it just makes them feel better.

Being a ghost wouldn't be so bad if it's the only alternative.

Bucky and Mr. Stark are struggling with the doors, still, Mr. Stark is beating his fists at it, not doing much good, except, he breaks the control panel, and it fizzes and sparks.

It cracks and reveals something underneath.

Wires going up the wall behind it, dozens of them bundled up and sorted by color. Mr. Stark looks at the door, noting orange and black striped hazard tape along the seams.

He presses his face against the window, but he's not looking at my dead, flailing body hanging from a single web strand. He looks past me. The same hazardous looking tape with angled stripes, which ordinarily would have the words WATCH YOUR STEP with it, is yellow.

Bucky is struggling with the door that has purple tape.

Mr. Stark rips the panel the rest of the way off, and some of the metal wall, peeling it off the structure like ripping tinfoil out of a box. He grabs the bundle of yellow wires and pulls the ends out from where they attached to buttons. He rips the buttons off, exposing the thin, coppery ends, and using the palm repulsor of his right hand, sends a small electronic blast right on them.

The hanger doors groan and slowly begin to push shut. The wind only grows stronger the smaller the opening becomes, until finally they seal together with a magnificent boom.

My body drops to the hard ground. Limp, unmoving.

Mr. Stark wasted no time electrocuting the ends of the orange, and then the purple. First the doors my web stuck to slide open, and then Bucky's doors. Taking no chances, though, Bucky grabs the piece of metal from the wall that Mr. Stark tore out and shoves down on the floor. If the doors tried to shut again, the sheet will stop them.

I know this because I'm staring right down at them from the comfort of my white threshold. Yup, there's definitely white and gray expanses behind me, undulating with tendrils of fog and that feeling of nothing, a lack of temperature entirely.

I see Mr. Stark grasp my limp arms and drag me back into the hall with Bucky, just to be safe.

He starts doing CPR, pumping at my chest, pinching my nose, breathing into my mouth, back to CPR. He's doing it old school. In my health class, they told us not to do rescue breaths anymore, that it wasted time and the chest compressions shouldn't stop. I guess it's been awhile since he took classes.

For some reason that makes me sadder.

I guess feeling sad means I still sort of exist, right?

"Come on, kid! Come on! Breathe! God damnit!"

Beat, beat, beat, beat…

I don't really hear him, or at least I do, but it sounds like it's underwater, and there's a microphone getting feedback from something too metallic.

Another rescue breath. He pinches my nose so hard it leaves dark pink fingerprints.

"Not like this! Come on! Not like this!"

"Tony," Bucky says quietly.

I don't want to watch this.

Maybe because now he has a chance to save me, when truthfully, he has no chances in real life at all. You can't do CPR on dust.

I'm not really sure how it works, but I think it works like this…

I'm already dead so I can't really die again, right?

If I'm experiencing some sort of alternate universe, dimensions that that only exist because I am the common denominator, then if that universe boots me out, I end up back here.

While I can't really see what I'm seeing from - am I a glowing white orb? Invisible? Is it my own body? - I can either

A), step backwards and let the white door shut on this. I can try something else.

B), or I don't. I can play in this for as long as I want. There are consequences, yes, painful ones by the constricting of my lungs and the blood that looks like its coming out of my ears and eyes… but…

Okay, even if I step back into the white mists at this point and decide not to go any farther, will my inevitable curiosity bring me back to this door anyway because I'm dying to know if Stark and Bucky got off the ship?

It's like stopping a movie halfway through. No nerd with a high attention to details can resist seeing it through to the end even if it sucks big time.

I don't really know if I'm standing inside the doorchard or thinking about standing in it, but I don't feel myself existing at all, and I don't like that. It's too much like when the team started to turn into dark shadows, flickering like brown candlelight, and splintering into dust…

This feels too similar.

I decide if I return to inter-dimension of non existence and white doors, it is of my own choosing. I'll walk back in of my own violation alive (to a degree) and totally awesome, thank you very much.

I will myself to put the white mists behind me and step over the threshold.

I think I pass through Bucky like an actual ghost, (yay for leveling up) but there's no time to think about the mechanics of it… there ARE no mechanics. It's not science. I'm dead already!

My suspension of disbelief needs to be a lot higher for this, I think.

My eyes pop open. I bring in a huge, raggedy, broken gasp, my lungs filling with air.

"Good boy! Good boy! Here! I gotch you!" Mr. Stark roughly grasps my shoulder and pushes me over onto my side while I struggle to catch my breath. "You're okay," he repeats, over and over again. There's a sob in his voice. "Good boy. Deep breaths. You're okay."

My chest hurts so bad it makes it difficult to take those deep breaths, but so long without oxygen and I'm not being super choosy. They tell people that sternums and ribs will break sometimes, or almost always, during chest compressions, but I have the super-healing thing working for me. Maybe they don't break as easily, or they do, and they're already well on the mend.

I take in another loud, raking breath. "It hurts," I choke out.

Bucky slowly kneels down beside us. "Take it easy. Nice and slow."

"I know it don't feel so good, kiddo," Mr. Stark says. "Just keep breathing in and out. It'll be okay."

"Oh, oh my, how moving - how tragic, only, not tragic, quite heroic, actually, wouldn't you say it was heroic?" the Grandmaster's voice comes out of a speaker in the wall, sounding bored and only vaguely moved. "I'm really quite touched by the, uh, display of humanity here, what do you say we give you a few extra days out there, hm? Just some more - you know - bonding experiences, a few extra dangers, a little theatrical dramatics..." there's a pause. "Yes, yes, the people have VOTED, you have more time because we love what you've done with the place - keep up the uh, good work, I suppose. Delay death as long as you can. We'll see you soon."

The mic shuts off.

I use the back of my fist to wipe my watering eyes. "What… does he mean?" I ask, my voice deeper and raspier.

"We amuse him too much to off us just yet," Bucky straightens to his feet. "Why throw away a toy when you can still have fun with it?"

"Feel okay to stand, kid?" Mr. Stark asks. I'm still staring at the speaker, and he snaps his fingers lightly in my face. "Heya, kiddo. Over here."

I flinch and look at him.

"I'm helping you up, okay?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. Okay." I take his hand and he pulls me up to my feet. I feel sort of normal, but also a little weird, like I just woke up from a two hour nap in the middle of the afternoon when I should not be hitting a REM cycle.

My brain is telling me I've had too much time to rest and I need to ask what century I'm in.

"So," I venture carefully, "Is it too late to save the clock tower and get to the school dance?"

"Jesus Christ," Mr. Stark looks pained, and Bucky just stares at me wide-eyed.

"You okay?" Bucky asks.

"He's joking, it's, it's a joke," Mr. Stark says quickly. "You wouldn't know, being a machine-gun vegetable for so long. It's from a movie."

"Oh, good," Bucky sighs, stepping back through the door to the hallway.

"It just means can we go," I chuckle nervously.

Mr. Stark grips my shoulder with one hand and practically pushes and pinches me right out. Bucky leads the way, but Mr. Stark pauses me for a moment.

"That was too close," he says.

"I know," I answer.

"You weren't breathing."

"Um..."

"We need to survive this, understand?"

"Yes, sir. I mean… I can, because of you… thank you for…" I start coughing instead.

"No need to thank me."

"You saved my life!"

"Getting there, kid. Getting there. But just a lil' memo here for ya, I'm not going to let you out of my sight from now on…"

"Oh, come on…"

"Nah, ah ah ah! Zip it! That was too - close. I'm not losing you. Understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Do exactly what I say. Do not wander off. Do not… explore, or whatever. We get out of this alive. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay," he repeats, more to himself than me. He keeps an arm behind my shoulders, pushing me gently onward.

"Listen," Bucky says. "When we get back to the cockpit - let's try ripping the panels up. There's got to be some way to jerry rig controls..."

"I doubt the navigational controls are color coded," Mr. Stark replies with a sigh. "We got lucky."

"Why do you think the door buttons were color coded?" I ask.

"So people even as dumb as the Grandmaster can close a door in an emergency," Bucky answers bitterly.

"Or they had engineers with a sense of humor," Mr. Stark adds.

"That can't be it," Bucky says with perfect seriousness. "That's never it."

Suddenly the ship shivers, a rippling metallic shudder running through the whole thing.

Lights begin to turn on all the way down the hall - little white lights along the ceiling to light the way, brightening the hall into less like a Ridley Scott and more like a J.J. Abrams. Before, the hall was only lit by the panels in the walls and the blue-ish atmosphere of the planet below.

"That looks nice," I exclaim, cheered by the sight. "I guess some of the systems are turning back on."

"That wouldn't happen just because you shocked some life into the door wires," Bucky looks up, his head swiveling back and forth. He stops at one of the panels, eyes widening. "These are in English now."

"Shit!" Mr. Stark turns and braces his hands on my shoulders. "Just… stand here. Don't move."

He joins Bucky and starts fiddling with the touch screen.

"I got it, I got it," Bucky snaps with frustration.

"Swipe the… swipe that menu," Stark doesn't catch his tone. Bucky does something different.

"No, swipe left," Stark exclaims.

"So is the ship working, or are you on space Tinder?" I ask loudly.

Mr. Stark holds up a single finger of hold that thought in my direction.

"There was a PROGRAMS option," Bucky says tersely.

I glance over to my right. There's another matching panel on the other side, glowing in gold with bright yellow text flashing.

INCOMING TRANSMISSION

"Hey guys?" I ask.

"Stop hitting the return button every time I do something," Bucky insists angrily.

"I need to read the whole menu before you play piano with this thing," Stark gives him a shit-eating grin. I think he likes pushing Bucky's buttons more than the ones in the panel.

INCOMING TRANSMISSION

"Yeah, okay, cool," I go over to the yellow panel and look at the flashing letters. There's nothing simple about answering the call, no green phone icon or anything indicative of acceptance.

"Uh," I say out loud, trying out a very bad Picard impression. "Call ACCEPTED!"

Nothing.

"On Screen…?"

Nothing.

"ANSWER," I blare.

A face appears in the picture. A very… very beautiful woman, wearing complicated black braids and white stripes painted down her dark skin. She looks as if she's wearing armor. Not like, Iron Man armor. Like a knight in shining armor-armor. Like she slays dragons for a living.

Space dragons?

"My name is Valkyrie," she says at the camera, eyes wide with intensity. "I need you to listen to me and listen carefully."

"Uh, hey?," I stutter awkwardly. "What's… what's up...?"

"Shut up and listen," she says quickly with a thick accent. "Get your compatriots back to the cockpit and strap in. I'm getting you out of his range, okay?"

"Whose range?" I ask.

"The Grandmaster, you bloody fool!" she shouts. "I've overridden his remote but I've got less than a minute before he's back and then you're on your own."

"Uh - okay?"

"GET A MOVE ON! DO AS I SAY!"

"Oh - yeah yeah yeah, okay! Okay! Guys, we need to go!" I race back to Mr. Stark and Bucky.

"Listen, we gotta go!"

I reach up and smack the back of each of them in the head.

Bucky whips around looking murderous, Stark just looks baffled.

"WE'VE GOT TO MOVE, NOW," I screech. "BACK TO THE COCKPIT! RIGHT NOW! LET'S GO!"

They fully realize my urgency, and thankfully don't stop to ask questions. Frankly, I have a lot too, but if this woman is rescuing us, I'm not going to ask why or how until we're safely far, far away.

Mr. Stark's helmet slams shut over his face, the eyes lighting up, and Bucky takes off at a dead sprint.

I follow quickly, sometimes stringing myself along with web to go faster.

The problem is, it takes us a minute - at least - to get to the cockpit.

Bucky is the first up the ladder, Mr. Stark thuds to a halt at the bottom, and waits. "After you, Gonzales," he says, "Then you need to tell me what all the fuss is ab - "

The ship gives a massive heave, making a sound like a jet engine and hurricane wind. Huge pressure slams against us, threatening to suck us right back down the spoke we just ran through. I grasp the ladder rung quickly, and Bucky is holding his hand down for me through the hole.

"What the hell is that?" Mr. Stark exclaims, activating his thrustors again to keep himself in place. Bucky hoists me with a heave and tosses me onto the floor beside him, then lowers his hand for Mr. Stark, but Mr. Stark is already flying straight up and through -

And not a second too soon.

The ship gives such a heavy lurch forward that Mr. Stark gets slammed against the console, I slide across the floor with a squeak, and Bucky topples over.

I look out the window -

We didn't lurch.

We're flying.

It looks like a hyperjump in Star Wars at first, when all the stars become a little longer than they should, stretching past and then turning into a crazy stream of color. But it doesn't turn all blue and swirling, there's other colors too, and the whole ship shudders and groans like an angry metal animal kept away from dinner.

Mr. Stark is struggling to get himself into one of the seats and strapped in. "Get buckled up, kids," he says joltingly.

"Yeah, Buckle," I say, picking myself off the floor. "Bucky up."

Bucky is already clicking shut the straps over the chair and shooting me a confused glance.

"How'd you know the ship was going to shoot off to god-knows-where?" Mr. Stark asks me, his helmet visor lifting so he can give me that 'look'.

Oh, good, Mr. Potato Head packed his angry eyes.

"The woman on the computer told me," I say meekly, strapping myself into the chair between him and Bucky. "I didn't have time to explain!"

"Looks like we could be flying for awhile," Bucky is glancing over the console, then swiveling back around to look at us. "You have time now. What 'woman'?"

"While you guys were updating your twitter feeds," I respond sarcastically, "A transmission came in and this nice lady showed up on screen. She said that she was busting us out and only had a minute before the Grandmaster came back. Like, she hacked his controls, or something. She said she was sending us to… uh… well, I guess she didn't say. Just out of his range."

"What'd the woman look like?" Mr. Stark asks.

"I dunno… really pretty?"

"Blonde? Gold emblem on a red and blue suit?"

"No, dark hair... Silver armor."

"Oh… huh. Don't know her."

"She said her name but I don't remember it. It sounded like she said Val Kilmer."

"Oh, good, we're being jettisoned into space by Val Kilmer," Mr. Stark sighs.

"Hey, I got something," Bucky's eyes light up over the panel. "This one is in English now, too. It says our destination is somewhere called Xandar." He looks up at us. "Either of you ever been to Xandar?"

…

...

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...

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Coming Next: The Nova Corps are always up for a bargain.

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	9. Part III: Power - The Expendables

PART THREE - POWER

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Chapter Nine

 _The Expendables_

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...

…

The ship gains speed.

It's nearly impossible to tell in space, but, the faster we go, the hotter we burn.

The silver edges of the consoles actually start to steam a little bit. One look out of the window, and the huge ring around the cockpit is looking a little… orange. Heating up on the edges, an unfortunate comet hurtling towards possible destruction.

I sit on my hands nervously, trying to not think about what it would be like to crash like a TIE fighter and explode in a fireball of melting death.

Bucky and Stark have their heads ducked over the consoles, sliding from one chair to another and rebuckling themselves in, examining different panels and reading the information while they can. Whatever Val Kilmer did, she hacked in long enough to reset the languages to English, broke the tractor beam, and gave us new coordinates for lightspeed.

But now we're lightspeeding into an atmosphere with no possible way to slow down.

"Okay, uh, try hitting the red button over on your side?" Mr. Stark directs this to Bucky, reading from a menu he's examining on the screen. "The bigger one."

Bucky hits the button, and nothing happens for a moment. Then a rush of cool, pleasant air pumps into the room.

"Oh, goody, we found the air conditioning," Mr. Stark frowns back over his screen. "Try the - no, skip that. What about the sliding buttons up beneath the window? The ones that look like a, uh, you know, like soundboard."

"Which ones do you want me to adjust?"

"Only the ones that are in the red. Pull each down a half-inch."

Bucky does as he's asked, but the ship gives a nasty scraping sound in return.

"No, nope, put 'em back," Mr. Stark says with a sigh. "Only the ones in green - try those."

He lowers the square dials down, and this time, the roar of the engines seems to grow quieter.

"What's that?" Bucky asks. "What'd I do?"

"Per this handy thing I'm reading," Mr. Stark replies, "a whole lot of nothing except prep the engines for NOT going at the speed of light. It's not slowing us down, but we won't go any faster."

"I got an idea, try this one," Bucky starts reading out loud from his screen, "Increase stabilization! That's the hammer-shaped toggle over by - no, not that one - yeah, that one. Try pulling it slowly towards you."

Mr. Stark grabs the toggle and pulls it in as slowly as a snail retracting an eye.

The ship's subtle shaking from its intense speed stops entirely. Now it feels smooth and steady. No turbulence. We're still going fast, but hopefully not fast enough to cause any craters and kill all the dinosaurs… again.

"Nice!" I exclaim. "That's - that's good, right?"

"Good for now," Bucky replies. "I wish this thing had pedals."

"What if landing requires some sort of… complicated mathematical equation in the computer?" I ask meekly. "Do you think we could…"

"Nope!" Mr. Stark interrupts. "Nope, no, no…I've got something - we got incoming…"

"Incoming?" I repeat, eyes widening.

"How many?" Bucky asks.

One of the screens closest to my elbow lights up.

INCOMING TRANSMISSION

"What the," Mr. Stark erupts. "That's a lot of ships…"

"HOW MANY!" repeats Bucky urgently.

"Are you gonna get that or should I?" I say.

"Twenty?" Mr. Stark stands and leans over the console to get a better look out of the window. "Jesus. A hundred?"

"Yeah, cool, that's fine, I'll get it… I'm the space secretary," I mumble, leaning over the nearest screen. "Answer."

A face pops up on the screen, a man with an oddly large head and a face that looks like he is 100% done with everything ever.

"Good morning, gentlemen," the man says with a deep sigh. "My name is Rhomann Dey and I'm with the Nova Corps. You've entered the atmosphere of Xandar at a speed ten times the recommended limit for a safe landing. I need you to decrease your speed."

"We don't know how!" I blast at the screen as loudly as possible.

He flinches back as if I have bad breath blowing through the mic. "No need to scream at me, son," he narrows his eyes. "You are too young to be flying this vessel. Where's your captain?"

"I'm the cap - yes - Captain - that would be me, yes, sir, how are you doing?" Mr. Stark shoves my chair so that it spins like a pinwheel, leaving me seeing nothing but blurs and Mr. Stark's billionaire attitude emulating in waves. "You look like a fine, uh, robust man of great intelligence," he prattles. "My name is Tony Stark and my friends and I are trapped aboard this runaway ship, escaping the clutches of a mad-man who held us hostage."

I slam my hand on the console to stop the chair from spinning any further.

"Yeah, okay, Anthony," Rhomann responds. "I assume that's what Tony stands for. Can I call you Anthony? Thanks. So. Rewind the bullshit, get to the part where you slow the ship down before you hurt someone. Can you give that a shot? Slowing it down? It'd be really helpful for us."

"We're going to put a pin on the part where you're familiar with Italian names," Mr. Stark shakes his head slightly as if trying to rid his ears of a buzzing sound. "Because like the boy said, we don't know how."

I realize Mr. Stark also is yelling too loudly at the screen.

We're both used to bad cell service, I guess.

"This is not our ship," he continues, "We were MAROONED. Now it's gonna crash, unless you Bob-Ross me through landing the damn thing."

"What he means is, talk us through the mechanics," Bucky joins in. We're all crowding around the screen like half the Brady Bunch trying to watch a show on a rabbit-ear TV. I see a lot of those in pawn shops - saw. I mean I did. Used to. Past tense. "We don't want to hurt anyone."

"Slow down the damn engine, that'll do the trick," Rhomann says.

"How - Do - We - Do - That?" Mr. Stark overly pronounces each word. "Your - TECH - Doesn't - Make - Sense!"

"If we don't slow down soon we're gonna crash," I add. "We're… we're smart, though, so you can tell us what to do, and we'll follow your instructions!"

"Oh what the hell," Rhomann sighs. "Is there a set of uh… uh… matching toggles somewhere with a grip and a red button where your thumbs should go?"

"Found em," Bucky announces.

"Ease them back real slow, don't touch the buttons. Simultaneously, please, or the whole thing's gonna turn sideways."

"Did you just point out the steering wheel?" Mr. Stark asks. "That's helpful."

"All right, Mouth," Rhomann adds, "Find the navigational graph on screen."

There's a screen closer to me that looks like an audio wavelength on a graph. It's slowly shifting, ever so slightly from side to side, the trending line curving up and then down on both sides.

"You know there's sixteen screens in here, right?" Mr. Stark cries with exasperation. "Why don't you beam aboard, Scottie, and fly it yourself?"

I realize exactly what this screen is. It's simple enough math. The Y axis represents the literal horizon. As we pull in closer to this planet's atmosphere, I noticed the curve of the line is slowly straightening. The higher independent variable is, the faster we are… the variable IS the speed.

"I got it, I got it!" I exclaim. "I found it!"

"Slide your finger down the highest point on the graph till the point goes below the middle line," Rhomann says.

Despite my suit covering my hands as well, Mr. Stark made sure my suit did not serve as a barrier between skin on device contact. Hence I could still use a touch screen, use my weird sticking-to-wall powers through the soles of my feet.

Mr. Stark hovers at my shoulder.

I touch the highest point on the graph and slowly bring it down towards the bottom of the screen, the trend line slowly following my finger's movement down the intervals for dependent variables.

The ship is DEFINITELY slowing down. Like, really, really slowing down. The engines are quieter now, nothing more than a plane in cruise mode in high altitudes. Bucky still has both toggles pulled back towards him, gaze hard and focused.

Mr. Stark claps my shoulder. "Good job, kiddo."

"What's your speed?" Rhomann asks. "Should say near there. This is an older ship so I can't guarantee…"

"There's an S blinking in the upper corner," Mr. Stark says.

"That's good enough I guess," Rhomann sighs. "Tell your other pal to press the red triggers on those toggles. Same time. Nice and slow."

Mr. Stark nods to Bucky.

Bucky does as he is asked, and a horrible screeching down echoes through the chamber.

"Are those the brakes?" I ask.

"That's your landing gear," Rhomann replies. "There is simply not enough time to talk you through a good one..."

"What exactly is the alternative?" Mr. Stark erupts. "I thought you said you could talk us through slowing down!"

"Yeah, well, that was before you entered the atmosphere," Rhomann argues. "And you're slow enough, anyway. Hopefully most of you survive. We can shoot you down over an unoccupied field if you want. Is that what you want?"

I peer up and out of the window - the stars are fading away into white clouds slowly growing thicker and thicker, until they block the few of the vast blackness altogether.

The sky between them is now blue.

Bright, sunny, happy, Earth-looking blue.

"Jesus Christ, we have a child aboard, do you people not get that?" Mr. Stark roars angrily. "There will be no SHOOTING, no CRASHING…"

"The crash is inevitable, we'll do what we can," Rhomann replies, looking only a little apologetic. "Strap in."

"All clear?" another voice comes in through the speaker, this one is on Rhomann's end.

"Partially, Denarian, sir," Rhomann replies, "Keep the emergency crews out till I give the all clear."

"We're not going to die in a huge fireball, are we?" I ask nervously.

Rhomann shrugs. "Maybe you've learned your lesson about stealing ships you don't know how to fly."

"Can I let go of these toggles without jeopardizing the landing?" Bucky asks.

"Yes, they'll stay where you left them," Rhomann replies, "but you're going to need to be back in that spot to try and…"

Bucky stands abruptly from his chair, not listening. He walks over to where he dumped the massive alien weapon, straps it to his chest, and walks back to the chair and sits down, pulling the belts over his lap and chest.

He feels Mr. Stark and I giving him a look. "If we crash among hostiles, it's best to be prepared," he says quietly. His gaze zeroes in on me first, then Mr. Stark. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

"Uh… ditto?" I reply nervously.

"Barnes," Mr. Stark says sternly. "This isn't going out in a blaze of glory. We got you this far. We'll keep getting through. Don't with the whole defeatist attitude yet. Not on my watch."

"I can still hear you," Rhomann says dryly.

"Then maybe you should LISTEN to the WORDS, Truffle Shuffle!" Mr. Stark shouts. "We aren't your enemy and we didn't steal this damn ship!"

The ship is beginning to shudder and groan, metal on metal grinding together as something happens with the landing gear. For some reason I imagine little robotic legs appearing hydraulically from the ring around the ship, wearing little tennis shoes.

I giggle with a hysterical panic.

"You're comin' in hot," Rhomann shouts over the roar. "Just keep that horizon line at the bottommost point. And you, Blaze of Glory, push those toggles BACK IN when I tell you. Capiche?"

"What is it with the Italian?" Mr. Stark asks the air above his head.

The ship shakes violently, I'm getting jostled around in my seat, only the straps keeping me from flying every which way. It's hard to keep my hand steady on the screen.

The view out the window - once giving us a glimpse of blue sky on another planet's day - is now turning dark with smoke.

There's flame, too, and the room is hot again.

"Mr. Stark," I begin. "If we - if you…"

"No!" Mr. Stark shouts. "None of that! If you black out, kid, listen to me, if you wake up and I'm not…"

"NOW!" Rhomann shouts.

Bucky slams the toggles back into place, and the ship banks so hard that I -

…

…

Darkness.

…

…

Darkness…

…

…

Darkness, and then -

Wait, nope.

Still dark.

…

...

A different darkness. Present, and warm.

There's light behind my eyelids, turning the darkness into a muted, fleshy orange.

I blink, lifting my head, a headache pounding in my temples and on the back of my neck.

I'm in a cell. A small, white cell, a wall on either side of me, and one ahead with a solid white door.

I lift my chin and look behind me, and see that the fourth wall is entirely made of glass. Not just glass, a window.

The sun is bearing down on me heavily, a bright patch planted squarely over me. I look down, and see my wrists are together in an overzealous, clunky set of handcuffs. There's a tiny red light blinking on the cuffs. I would bet a million dollars I don't have that it would turn green once they're unlocked.

"Ow," I groan, rolling over onto my stomach, pushing myself onto my knees with my left elbow, resting my forehead on the floor. My right arm aches deeply, not broken, but close to it. If I could roll up the sleeves of my suit, I have no doubt my forearm would bear a nasty yellow and purple bruise. It hurts bad enough to make me lightheaded.

I wait a moment for a wave of dizziness to pass, and then struggle to my feet, wavering in place. "What the hell?" I whisper, taking one faulty step after another till I'm at the window, pressing my bound hands on the glass and looking down.

I'm pretty high up, or at least, relatively high up for a prison. Somehow I expect all prisons to be dark and underground, but this one is definitely on a fourth or fifth story, with a view.

At the horizon, there's tall, glassy buildings embracing rounder, more fluid architecture than what I'm used to. Somewhere behind them, there is a plume of black smoke rising into the sky.

That must be our ship, downed somewhere just outside the city…

I hope we didn't hurt anybody when we crashed. Considering everything that's happened with Thanos, I'm oddly grateful that I was unconscious for impact. Or at least, unconscious soon enough after to not remember it. I don't want to add any more potential for PTSD to my unfortunately large arsenal.

I look down into a very pleasant looking plaza made of pavement. There's a tall, golden fountain in the middle, steps leading down to it, and some creatively twisted steps going up into a long walking bridge. Everything has that same, fluid glass, gold and blue theme, making everything look so pleasant.

The sunshine is warm on the glass and my hands, and it lights up the waters in the fountain below, making the green water sparkle.

The plaza is bustling with crowds of people.

Only they aren't… well, they're not human people.

They're aliens.

So many kinds and so many colors, I can hardly pick one to stare at. There's humanoid figures with bright pink skin, there's weird fish looking guys with their heads inside large spherical glass bubbles. I see a pair of silver-skinned people with such long tails that they keep them draped over their elbows, a tuft of white hair at the end.

Everyone's dressed in the most curious, otherworldly fashion, and even when they look sort of human, they look decidedly NOT human, with crazy hairstyles, horns, wings, even extra limbs.

There's even walking tree… he looks like he's twelve feet tall, if I had to guess from here.

There's even some rabbit wearing a jacket, checking his watch…

Oh my gosh, I'm in the future Wonderland. Does that make it Tomorrowland?

"Whoa," I whisper. "This is… this is…"

Talking really hurts, a stinging erupting at the corner of my mouth.

I touch my lip and wince, then lean in closer to the window. I try to tune out the blaze of color and wonder I see on the other side to get a better glimpse of my reflection.

Oh boy - split lip. Black eye. Both on the same side - I must have gotten dislodged from the chair, or the chair itself came out of the floor, smashing me into the console just on the right side. I touch my cheek. Ow.

Very… very sore.

I remember, with a wince, that the last time I saw my mask, I was ripping it from my face in the hangar in order to breathe better, balling it up in one fist…

When I lost consciousness, I'm sure that grip loosened and it got sucked right out into space.

I wonder how Mr. Stark and Bucky are… are…

Wait a second…

I whirl back around and look at the door. It's solid white. And it's…

It's not white just because this cube-prison is already white. It's THE white door.

I slide to the floor, with my back against the glass, hugging my knees to my chest by looping my cuffed wrists over and around them.

No, I think fiercely, resting my chin on my knees. I'm not going to go through.

I stare down the door, stubbornness and anger making my heart beat fast.

I'm not going yet. You can't make me.

I'm gonna find Mr. Stark and Bucky and get them out first.

Then… maybe then… I'll be ready to face the nothingness of my death, the dimension of opportunities and that damn, damn white fog…

I hear the sound of a door unlocking.

I almost expect the door to open and Dr. Strange to stick his head through, demanding I step out of this playworld and rejoin him in the nothingness.

A bolt slides back with a metal grunt, and the door undulates. The white begins peeling back like eggshell, revealing a dark gray door made of iron - or the alien equivalent - beneath.

Only when the white is fully gone does the door open, and a man steps through. He's dressed in a smartly pressed, dark blue uniform. There's a tiny red starburst symbol on his lapel.

"Follow me," he says, his voice clipped evenly. "Do not try to run, or we'll shoot you and your friends."

His accent sounds British. It's impossible to tell if he's cold and cruel, or just being a professional whatever-he-is. If I were a guard I'd probably say the same thing. But…

"Where are they?" I ask. "Are they okay?"

"They're waiting for you," says the man calmly. "Come with me. Now."

Still, I hesitate. The door certainly won't take me to the nothing dimension now - I can see past him into a clean, ice-blue hallway behind him. There's even people walking back and forth, doing busy work, not paying any attention to us.

"I will not ask a third time," says the man.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay, Malfoy, keep your sock on," I mutter, walking carefully towards him, each spidery sense on high alert, waiting for any slight trigger.

I walk past him, and out the door into the hall. He clamps one hand onto my right shoulder, his fingers digging in painfully. I hiss slightly and shirk away, but his pressure does not relent.

I mean, I get why he wouldn't, I'm his prisoner, but I DID just crashland in a ship…

He begins to march me down the hall. I don't feel a murderous, dangerous sort of flare that I would if I were to be killed unfairly. I feel nothing but waves of business from this man, a dry, boring sort of business where this shit happens to him every day and I'm just one of many.

I catch a brief glimpse out the window at the end of the hall, which gives me a better view of what's behind the walking bridge I could see from my window.

Yep, the smoke billowing into the sky is definitely coming from our downed ship. It looks like we landed on a sort of waterfront, half of the ship submerged in a glistening, dark blue bay, and the other half of it cradled by cement viewpoints edged in a wrought fence. Half of the ring is missing, totally broken off the ship and probably sinking in the water.

I'm so glad Val Kilmer told us to go to the cockpit.

The hall isn't very long, just a few doors matching mine, till we get to the end, and then there's one that's considerably nicer. Way more J.J. Abrams Federation than anything else.

The beige doors slide apart with a swift hiss, and I see a pleasant looking sitting room. Two white, curved couches with dark orange cushions face each other, with a clear coffee table of plated glass between them. It's a simple room, a few paintings hanging on the right, a floor to ceiling window on the left. There's guards everywhere, standing strategically throughout the room, all heavily armed…

This window offers a much better view of our captured ship's sinking in progress, but I don't really care about catching a glimpse any more, because Mr. Stark and Bucky are sitting on the couch beside each other on the right.

I open my mouth to exclaim with surprise and step towards them, but my guard squeezes my shoulder harder, and I don't push it.

On the left, a woman sits across from them. She looks like she's maybe in her sixties, or seventies, sporting a navy pantsuit and the same red emblem as the man behind me.

She has pure white hair done up in an impressive bun, and her expression, while not unkind, is regal and taking absolutely no shits.

"Welcome, Peter, isn't it?" she asks, her voice aged by long years of probably commanding vast armies and giving orders every which way. She exudes that confidence. "Are you feeling better?"

"Uh…" I stutter, unsure. "Uh… compared to what, exactly?"

If Bucky and Mr. Stark weren't also both wearing matching cuffs, I swear both of them would be facepalming right now. Bucky's eyes drift shut like he just watched something embarrassing.

Her blue eyes blink once. "Ah," she says, and I realize she has a cup of tea in her hands, which she sets down on the table in between them. "Allow me to - fill you in. You are aware, are you not, that your ship has crash-landed on Xandar?"

"Y-yes," I say with uncertainty. Is this a test? What if I get something wrong? I wasn't TRYING to be a smartass… just clarifying!

"And you are aware that the Nova Corps has placed you and your friends under arrest for this reckless, reckless act?" the woman asks.

I look down at the handcuffs. "I think I got the gist of it."

"And now," she continues, "I have graciously taken your guardians at their word that you were fleeing the Grandmaster's twisted games on Sakaar and did not purposefully endanger the lives of our citizens."

I nod, then freeze. "Wait… was there a question in that?"

"Look, madam, my kid literally knows nothing about these worlds," Mr. Stark interrupts. "As pleasant as this little - uh - exchange is, he knows jackshit. Please. Just. Let's keep talking. Like I promised."

The woman ignores him, still looking at me. "All three of you were extracted, unconscious, from the wreckage, and placed in holding cells till I could decide what to do with you. The other two woke up much sooner than you."

"Like I said before," Bucky says tersely, "The Grandmaster put our lives in danger again, and again, and only minutes before we crashed here, Peter was caught in a hangar leaking our oxygen and nearly died."

"It took me awhile to get him breathing again," Mr. Stark interjects. "His getting clobbered in the head again so soon was probably - uh - not so great for him. If you're going to keep us alive, at least throw us some medical personnel, make sure he's okay…"

The woman holds up a finger to silence him. "Your friend promised us his help as long as he knew you were alive," she says. "And of course, here you are." She turns to Mr. Stark, her gaze stern. "We're not monsters. All three of you will be patched up as best as we are able. But you are still prisoners."

"The charges being endangerment, unlawful use of a stolen vessel, unsafe landing, and violent assault," Bucky rattles off dryly.

Mr. Stark gives him a concerned look.

"I attacked my guard when I woke up," Bucky admits. "I tried to escape."

"He won't die, no thanks to you," says the woman. "And the room you destroyed can be repaired."

I feel like my head is filled with a wasps nest. "So are you like, a queen or something?"

"Jackshit," emphasizes Mr. Stark.

"I am Irani Rael, the Nova Prime," says the woman, "Commander of the Nova Corps. As you've interrupted the peaceful life of my city, I'm responsible for your fate."

"Uh…" I say quietly. I don't like the word fate. Not at all.

The man behind me shifts slightly. "Well, he's seen the boy, as we promised," he says. "Shall I return him to his cell?"

"Wait," I start to say. I don't want to be separated again…

"Wait," says the Nova Prime at the same time. She gives me an even stare. "Let him sit with the others. For now."

The man pushes me over to the couch, where I sit hesitantly down next to Mr. Stark. Then the man returns to the front of the room, and stands at attention by the door.

"So, about our terms," the Nova Prime gives Mr. Stark a slight smirk. "You agreed that a sentence of two years in hard labor was an unjust result of your crimes?"

"Only because I've got somewhere I need to be," Mr. Stark checks his watch and winds his fingers together. "So we're going to need to wrap this up."

"I decide when things are wrapped up," the Nova Prime frowns. "The alternative is another… laborious endeavor, but far more dangerous. Though it will permit you to leave planet exactly how you would like to, in a ship designed by humans from Earth, no less, allowing for your ease in piloting yourselves."

Bucky is tense. "So you give us a job, a ship we can fly ourselves, and a destination? What exactly do you need us to do?"

"Oh, the destination is up to you," she shrugs. "You want to leave, and we want you gone, if you have no money that has value in this side of the galaxy to pay for the damages done, and even hard labor cannot quite acquit you from the general animosity felt by my people when - yet again - idiotic space-travelers interrupt a perfectly lovely day. In a world recovering from a desperate war, that peace is hard fought, and you can understand their frustrations." She picks up her teacup again. "No, I need you to make a detour on our behalf. I would like to stow some cargo on your ship."

"What sort of cargo?" Mr. Stark asks.

"A germ," she replies. "Contained in a non-escapable unit. It's poisonous unleashed in this sort of atmosphere, dispensing itself liquidly. Elsewhere, we're told, it's gelatinous, though still poison to touch. We want it gone. And we want it gone yesterday." She smiles. "You're expendable to us. We've arrested you for your crimes and but you have your choice of sentence."

"If the germ can't escape, why are we the specially-chosen for an expendable mission?" Bucky asks. "It doesn't make sense."

"You will be in no danger from the poison," she replies, "It's because others want it for themselves. This will make you a target in the galaxy, and frankly, if you get shot down, I don't really care."

A dead silence. I feel nervous sweat dripping down my back.

"Where do you want us to go?" Mr. Stark asks suspiciously.

"Make a stop on the planet of Knowhere, deposit the cargo, and then you are free to do whatever you like. Except come back here."

She smiles at us, and sips her tea. "You are banned from ever returning to Xandar."

"Tony," Bucky starts.

Mr. Stark ignores him completely. "We accept."

…

...

* * *

...

* * *

Coming Next: This is going Knowhere fast.

* * *

Thank you so so much for all your kind and lovely and thoughtful reviews, they are the food to my little writerly soul! It inspires me so much! I love you all


	10. Part III: Power - Lions and Tigers

PART THREE - POWER

* * *

Chapter Ten

 _Lions, and Tigers, and Bears, Oh My_

* * *

…

…

"We accept," says Mr. Stark.

"We do?" I squeak.

"Very well," the Nova Prime sets down her tea cup. "You leave tomorrow."

Those five little words instantly begin a rush of activity. The Nova Prime nods to the man at the door. He gives a signal that I don't catch, and the armed guards around the room swarm us. Two each take Mr. Stark and Bucky and lead them out the door, and the one that brought me in forcibly drags me back out. I don't fight him on it, not really to my full capacity, but I do struggle to keep my head craned in the direction that they're taking Bucky and Mr. Stark away.

"Hey, uh, guys?" I say queasily. "We're uh - they're at least sending us off planet together, right?"

"It's gonna be okay, kid!" Mr. Stark tersely calls over his shoulder. The guards keep their grips on his upper arms, pushing him down the hall and around the corner.

"Just keep your head down," Bucky says, lagging behind on purpose. "And do what they say! Everything's going to be all…"

The man puts me back in my cell and shuts the door, the heavy clatter of the bolt sliding into place and cutting off Bucky's assurances.

Nothing but silence in the wake. I turn uneasily and examine the room again. Nothing has changed, though the sun patch has moved ever so slightly.

I wonder which sun this is. Or if it even has a name, or if they just call it the sun like we do.

My spidey senses flinch - and so do I - when a WHIRRING sound comes out of the wall like a box fan turning on spontaneously.

A seam suddenly appears in the white wall. A small bunk unfolds out of the rectangle like an oven door opening by itself. There's a small white mattress on it, and a pillow. The whirring stops when it comes to the end of it's hinge and sits there silently, beckoning.

Sleep does… sound tempting. But considering how many times I've been unconscious in the last few… hours? Days? Maybe not worth the risk.

But I do walk over to the bunk and sit on it gingerly. It's just high enough for me to swing my legs back and forth.

I would have preferred a shower opening in the wall. I'm covered in sweat, blood, grime, yellow-plastic-balloon-acidic-numbing-poison, and as far as I know, my own death-dust.

I shudder involuntarily and hug my arms.

My cell door opens and a man in a white lab coat steps in. "Hello, prisoner number three," he says congenially. He's not even looking at me, he's looking down at a small fancy tablet in his hands. "I'm here to check you out and make sure you're doing okay. Your friends insisted."

"Okay," I say with a sort of nervous chuckle. Inside, my brain starts replaying every bad movie ever with aliens and mad scientists and human experimentation and…

The cell door shuts behind him from a dark gloved hand of a door-guard. The doctor walks over to me and consults his tablet further.

"What do… uh… I need to do?" I ask shyly.

He glances up at me, eyebrows confused. "Oh, uh, nothing," he says, "Just hold still."

I gulp.

He holds his tablet in front of me. "Hold really still," he says again. "On three - one, two, three."

I flinch and shut my eyes.

The doctor looks at me incredulously. "I told you not to move."

"Maybe I wouldn't have if I had known what you were counting down to," I snap.

"Ah. Well. No matter," the doctor looks at his tablet. "You nearly ruined it by a millisecond. It's fine." He begins using his finger to swipe on the screen, looking at what, I have no idea. "Mmhm… good, good, good," he says to himself. "Well. All vitals looking good, all things considered. You do have a mild concussion so, uh, you need to watch that."

I blink. The freaking tablet just did one of the those high-tech Star Trek body-scan things.

"That thing says I'm alive, right?" I ask, pointing at his tablet. "Like alive alive?"

The doctor tilts his head. "As opposed to what, exactly? Dead?"

I scoff. "Ha. Uh. No. Why would you… say… no, not like, dead, that'd be impossible. Just…" I try to rummage in my brain for a good excuse. "I just didn't know if my real body died and someone replaced me with a robot and uploaded all my memories to the robot so that the robot thought it was really me."

The doctor throws back his head and laughs. "No, no, nothing like that. And if you were a robot, I would certainly know." He taps his tablet. "We don't do those sorts of things here, robot replacements and all. I have it on good authority that they do shit like that on Earth all the time. If there was ever a planet to avoid, that's the one. Stick to - well, maybe seven or six of the realms. It's safer that way."

I nod and try to act like I'm not from Earth. "Uh huh…"

"Well, I'll be off. Nice meeting you… uh…"

"Peter?"

"Peter. They'll be sending up food next. My recommendation? Eat all of it. You're a little bit underweight." The doctor waves cheerfully and taps three times in quick succession on the door. It opens for him, then shuts behind him again.

I don't really know what I had expected, but I think part of me believed I'd have no vitals, no weight, and no concussion, because I'm dead. And now that I feel sort of… confirmed… in this universe, it suddenly makes it more real. Less make believe.

Even though I have a door I can escape from usually available to me, it makes the rest of the emotions more real. Fear, pain, excitement, curiosity. Am I more allowed to feel these things, then? Since my real flesh-and-bone body is here, and present, and not drifting by the old team like a dust bunny?

The wall on the opposite side of me makes the same rotating sound as the bunk. Instead of a bed popping out, a seam appears and a much smaller square unfolds from the wall. This one is a tray, and there's food on it.

I don't realize how hungry I am till I'm already bent over the tray, shoveling the food in my mouth like a creepy survivalist stumbling upon a pile of grubs. I don't even notice what I'm eating. Meat? Tofu? It has a weird texture and tastes like meat but I don't even care. The last thing I ate was… I think it may have been… a hot dog in Queens. I couldn't possibly say when that was. Time flows differently in hell. Or heaven. Depending on what happens.

The next thing I'm eating without taking a breath is some sort of fruit. It's juicy and red and sort of bittersweet, like an unripe strawberry.

I blink and realize I only have a few bites left before consuming this entire thing. Wow. I just lived up to the teenage stereotype. My stomach lets out a satisfied growl, and I sigh, taking my time finishing the fruit. There's a tall glass of water as long as my forearm, which I drink quickly at first, and then slow. I don't want to throw up everything.

I take the water back to the bunk with me and sit, pulling my legs up onto the mattress and criss-crossing them.

Then I watch the sunset through the window.

At first, the sky's golden hues just deepen, but then streaks of purple and pink begin a razor-sharp journey across the sky, slicing through silken clouds in long strips. The sun deepens, the dark lavender shadows gracefully take over the plaza below.

I start getting sleepy. Like, really sleepy.

"I don't want to miss anything," I say out loud, realizing I'm in such a state of exhaustion that I would be going full-silly-mode if anyone was here to egg me on. That kind of tired that is so thick and intoxicating that you find yourself giggling and sobbing over just about anything.

I giggle first, and then I sob a little.

I think of Aunt May, waiting for me at home.

Mr. Stark holding me when I died.

Thanos.

That god-awful alien who thought he knew so much better than everyone else that he could play judge, jury, and executioner. I heard that phrase in a lot of TV shows and it works for him.

Thanos, the weirdest mass murderer in the history of any mass murderer ever. Him, with that condescending expression, beady eyes, and like, a million buttcracks in his chin.

Man, I really hate that guy.

I go to sleep looking at a sky turning deep purple outside the window. I'm thinking of the stones in Thanos's gauntlet. I think of the colors of the stones, knowing that while we fought him, the gauntlet wasn't full. There was at least one missing. Now that I think about it, I don't remember how many.

The sky makes me remember the purple gem, like his flesh. Kinda gross.

The stars are beginning to come out.

My dreams are devoid of color altogether.

…

BANG BANG.

My body twitches out deep sleep. Someone is banging on the door.

"Rise and shine," I hear Rhomann Dey's distinctly bemused voice on the other side of the cell door. "You leave in five minutes. Ships prepared and docked. Remember, no funny business."

Sunlight is streaming through the window again, from another direction. I must have been sleepier than I thought. I can smell something delicious and realize there's a fresh glass of water and some sort of pastry steaming on the tray across the room. Must be breakfast. At least they're feeding us, right?

I sit up quickly, dizzy with the pollution of sleep fogging up my brain. "Uh… is there a bathroom in the wall too?" I ask the door. "Or do I pee on the floor?"

The wall sighs again and two small bowls unhinge. One is a sink at waist level, the lower one is a urinal.

So I can pee next to a giant window overlooking a public plaza.

Okay, then.

…

In a few moments the metal bolt gives off the SHANK sound and my guards beckon me out. To my surprise, they unlock the handcuffs with a thumbprint to a small black square beside the glowing red button.

It turns green, and then they unclick. Bingo.

"Uh, thanks," I say, rubbing my sore wrists and stretching my shoulders. I slept on my back with my handcuffed wrists resting on my belly, so it wasn't too difficult to sleep with, but that doesn't mean my arms don't feel totally janked from remaining in the position for several hours. "So… you don't think I'm about to run away or something? Hurt someone?"

Rhomann stands at the head of the hall, waiting for the guards to push and prod me towards him. "Our esteemed commander is handing you an escape key," he replies drolly. "You'd be idiots to try something now when you have your freedom offered to you for free."

"Where's my friends?" I ask.

"Right here," Bucky's voice is right around the corner. He and Mr. Stark are waiting with other guards, six of them altogether.

Mr. Stark, dressed down in dark clothes with his suit likely stashed away in a wristwatch, looks very relieved to see me alive. I notice he's uncuffed too.

Bucky is not.

"Oh, uh, hey guys," I say awkwardly. "First question. Did YOU figure out you could ask the wall for a urinal or did you just pee on the wall…?"

"Let's get a move on," Rhomann Dey interrupts quickly before either of them answer. "You can play catch up later."

They lead us out of the hall and into an elevator as wide as a conference room. The lift descends the side of the building, all glass on one side so that we can see the other side of where we've been stashed. The view is nice enough, more jungle-looking fronds growing neatly out of little pots and squares throughout walking paths, plazas, glass displays, stairs and bridges. It's everything a science fiction city should look like.

But it's the people that are the most noticeable, standing out amongst the aliens and other beings are a line of men dressed in solid black, wearing helmets to conceal their faces. They are armed with huge, other-worldly artillery, and they're guarding a small box on a set of wheels. They have spotters waiting at either end of the plaza, and I catch a brief glimpse of a ship's wing parked in the morning shadow of the building.

I feel a cold shiver. That must be the germ in that box.

What sort of germ would be a target for enemies of Xandar? I honestly thought biohazard warfare was just an Earth-thing, but the galaxy is huge and there's no reason why, wherever there are people and diseases, why those dangers would not exist here too.

As the elevator shifts from side to side as it glides smoothly down, I realize the building isn't entirely… straight. The whole thing is built sort of like a pyramid that never reaches a point, angles going inward and windows subtly slanted. We hit the ground floor and the glass window slides open, spitting us out directly onto the back plaza.

The ship is parked here on the cement. It's small, maybe a smaller quinjet size.

No - it IS a small quinjet. At least the Xandarian equivalent. I almost expect a SHIELD logo on the wing, but no such luck.

"No place like home," Mr. Stark says with a extra-loud exhale. He's as surprised as I am, but pleased. "Who was your designer?"

"Classified," Rhomann barks. We can tell it's no such thing. He just doesn't want to have a conversation about it. I glance over my shoulder back at the building where we were being held. The elevator door, once a clear window, winks in and out - and turns white.

I turn my back on it.

Nope.

Rhomann leads us right to the middle of all the armed men, goes up to the black box on wheels, which they stopped at the lowered ramp at the back of the quinjet. He opens the top with a whir and a click.

"Here's your bounty," he intones seriously, his words clipped with professional unease. He lifts a small, brassy-gold cube out of the top, holding it out for Mr. Stark's inspection. It's no bigger than a rubik's cube. "You'll be giving it to Taneleer Tivan, otherwise known as the Collector. The coordinates are already programmed. But… not so programmed that you can't use evasive maneuvers if necessary."

Mr. Stark takes it without hesitation, holding it up to the sun, then his eye, then hands it to Bucky. As best as he can with the cuffs, Bucky examines it as well.

The light glints off of it, and my spider-sense goes off in a weird way. My senses are recognizing that whatever is in the cube is dangerous, but not immediate danger. Almost as if my spidey-senses are only giving me a friendly reminder.

The reminder feels sort of… slimey, and sickly. I guess the way a warning would feel for a biohazard germ. It makes my stomach give a little lurch.

Bucky offers me a look, which I shake my head quickly to decline.

"So this little thing contains a germ so dangerous that the entire Nova Empire wants it off planet so badly they're willing to hand it over to self-branded criminals to do so?" Bucky asks dryly. He slaps it back into Rhomann's awaiting palm so quickly that I almost expect it to burst open and a green gas of death to come pouring out.

"You know when you put it like that," Stark gapes, "It almost sounds as if you don't like the plan."

"Like the plan? Like it?" Bucky repeats. "I am one hundred percent certain if we had discussed or bartered for another five minutes, we might have come up with a better compromise than this."

"Or, we could literally be hoofing it through fields of Tribbles right now on day one of our 2 year labor sentence," Mr. Stark sighs. "We don't have that kind of time. Not for Earth, and not for Banner."

"So that cubey-thing has the germ inside?" I ask.

Rhomann Dey looks at me, his gaze sliding just past eye-contact and over my shoulder. "Uh, yeah," he says distractedly.

My spider-sense glimmers for the first time today. I feel a hot roll of sweat emanate from Rhomann, a stink of fear and…

Liar.

He's lying. I don't know what he's lying about, or even if his answer is a lie. It might not be. But something dishonest is happening. I wonder…

"We've got a disturbance in the west park," says a voice on Rhomann's wrist communicator.

Rhomann steps away from us and lifts his wrist to his chin. "I'm literally standing right next to the west park," he says annoyingly. "I got nothing."

"Oh, some pair of young lovers are beating the ever-lasting snot out of each other."

"So arrest them."

"You called dibs on this one."

"Dibs?"

"You said - if that junk-terd comes back, you let me have a go at him first."

"I call a lot of people junk-terd. Who is it?"

"System says Quill."

I feel my heart leap into my throat. I know that name.

I hear someone shouting in the square. Two steps down and I could see what's going on. I look up at Mr. Stark. He and Bucky are arguing in low voices. The guards are loading the holding box on wheels into the ship. The rest are standing at attention, and Rhomann has his back towards me…

I walk purposefully down the steps for a better look. Nothing sneaky, no movements that would indicate suspicious activity or running away. I won't jeopardize our leaving this planet, but the slamming of my heart in my chest tells me I need to get down there, I NEED to look, I need to see exactly if this Quill might also be the…

I hear Rhomann sigh. "Secure the area, see if you can try and get the crowds to exit quietly. He's pretty harmless but I'd rather catch him by surprise. Better safe than sorry."

I see him. It's definitely Quill. Our Quill. Er, at least, an alternate Quill. He's running at a high speed along one of the walking ramps edging the plaza, arms pumping, a curled lip of concentration as he suddenly leaps over the railing and plummets down to the plaza below, landing on a green-skinned woman running the same direction.

With a shout, they collide and fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

I wonder who she is. She fights like someone in the Widow program, or from what I've heard, black leathers and high heeled boots barely hinting at her power and deadly skills.

She has him pinned in an easy second, eyes blazing with purpose and a knee right in his jugular. "Fool," she hisses at him, "Should've learned."

"I don't learn," he replies hoarsely, "One of my issues!"

I frown in agreement. DEFINITELY one of his issues.

Quill snags a small, hollow orb with silver floral patterns out of the hand of the woman, slaps some sort of gadget onto her back, and suddenly a small rocket lights up and she goes flying the opposite direction like a rag doll stuck to Thor's hammer. She lands in a pool of water and skids till she slams against the wall.

I barely register her. I'm focused on Quill. Peter Quill. Oddly fascinated with pop culture references, like me. He's standing like an idiot while the giant tree that I saw yesterday from my cell walks up right behind him. He's holding a giant bag, like a cartoon bank robber in an old movie with a sack for stealing goods.

He's about to shove that bag right over his head.

I take another step forward.

WHAM.

My heart suddenly feels like it's going into overdrive with a solid THUMP against my sternum, and then stopping altogether. I physically lift my hand and put it to my chest to make sure my chest didn't burst open like the Alien movies.

I feel a flutter of my real heartbeat beneath my fingertips. It's fine.

My hearing almost completely disappears like a bomb went off, and then comes rushing back.

"Get these cuffs off," I hear Bucky say.

"What, and I suppose you PROMISE not to attack me like you did your other guard?" someone replies.

"Yes, I do promise," he responds with frustration in a monotone. "You can't expect me to run this errand for you handcuffed, do you? When I'm not supposed to come back?"

"Fine. But one false move from you - you're dead."

Something's dead. Or something deadlier than the Winter Soldier is close by.

Something isn't right. My brain clamors like a high pitched siren, knocking from one ear to another painfully, my skin suddenly ice-cold and dripping with sweat, a stink of death pluming invisibly into the air right in front of me.

Every kind of spider-sense is going off at once. Sound, touch, smell…

It all crescendos into one, solitary warning - DANGER.

Danger from what, though?

Danger from…

THANOS.

I glance over my shoulder. I'm barely twelve feet away from the adults. Rhomann has rushed for the building to approach his "dibs" from the other side. A few of the guards are jumping into small, star-shaped ships parked along the bay's edge. They're certainly not standing around and watching like I am.

I almost expect to see Thanos walking out of a portal opening somewhere behind me. That's how wrong this feels. Something very, very destructive is nearby, but it's not Thanos - it can't be Thanos…

It sort of feels like…

I don't feel so good…

No, not like that. But almost.

What else could possibly… what else felt exactly this dangerous but only when Thanos was around?

Down goes the bag over Quill's head.

Treebeard loops up the end of the bag and cinches it tight in his massive, tree-branch hands, the shape of Quill's body struggling and yelping inside.

I notice a small raccoon for the first time standing there wearing… clothes. Not clothes… small pieces of armor. And a giant square gun slung over his back.

It's like… Narnia and Die Hard had an evil baby.

"We're supposed to be professionals," I hear the raccoon speak just like a person, when the green-alien-lady suddenly marches back, dripping wet from the pool she landed in. She attacks the tree with a drawn sword, hacking, shouting, driving at him like an axe in a lumber yard. He tries to defend himself by holding his branch-arms in front of his face.

It takes her less than ten seconds to chop off both of his arms,

The bag plummets to the ground.

"Peter," I hear Mr. Stark call behind me. "I know it's fun to watch the local color beat the shit out of each other, but the Corps can handle it. Spider-Man does NOT need to get involved."

The woman opens the bag. Quill shoots her with a gun in a small blaze of lightning and crackling blue electricity, fizzling around each of her limbs and knocking her flat out with a cry.

"I hear you," I say hoarsely, not even bothering to turn around.

Quill disentangles himself from the bag, tripping over it one, two, three times before taking off at a dead run.

Heading right for us.

The star-shaped ships surround the plaza, humming silently.

The crowd parts ways as Quill barrels onward, that orb held tightly in one hand.

"Come on, kid," Bucky says, his voice going up a pitch with alertness. "Let's get in the ship before that escalates."

There's only one other thing I can think of that would make my spider-sense freak out like it did with Thanos.

Maybe one of the things that gave him powers in the first place.

An infinity stone.

I stop thinking altogether, and I break into a run to meet Quill half-way.

"QUILL!" I shout.

"What the hell!" I hear Mr. Stark shout behind me.

Quill makes eye contact with me only briefly, and he doesn't even have a chance to register surprise before a wad of electricity erupts around him in crackling energy, throwing him down on the ground with tendrils of blue sparks. Someone - I don't know who - shot him, too.

He writhes on the ground from the electrocution, shouting, and the orb has fallen out of his hand and rolls, rolls,

Rolls,

And stops,

Right where my feet skid to a halt.

The guards that had been standing at the ship are all running past me, pointing their guns at Quill. The others are circumnavigating the square's edge, ready to corner the green lady, the tree, and the raccoon.

The star-ships shoot out weird streams of golden-yellow light, only these ones catch the fighter's in their beams and hold them hostage in place, floating a few feet off the ground.

I bend down and pick up the orb, unnoticed by the guards all focused on Quill's spasming figure.

I feel my entire torso clench painfully, my spider-senses giving me the same warning from before…

Amongst the smells of death, the sirens in my ears and the ice-sweat, and I know - I know - I KNOW - I have an infinity stone in my hand.

And I'm taking it with me.

I turn and I run back out of the plaza and up the steps.

"Let's go, let's go!" I shout at Stark, who's halfway down the steps to retrieve me. "Let's get OUT of here!"

"Do you know that guy?" Stark asks, catching me by the arm as I pummel past him.

"TALK LATER, EXIT NOW," I bark, extracting my arm and rushing up the ramp. Mr. Stark, to my relief, follows me up the ramp right on my heels.

"What the hell was all that about?" he asks loudly. "Did you just STEAL something?"

"This?" I hold up the orb. "This is - this IS... " I am shaking so badly and I don't even realize it at first.

Holy shit, what have I done?

"This is my… my…"

Bucky turns around from a pilot's seat. "Limbs inside? Great," he says sarcastically. He hits a button above his head, and the ramp lifts up with hydraulic squeals, till it closes and encases us in a rush of cool, recycled air.

"Sit down before you fall down, and buckle in," Mr. Stark commands. "When we're out of this atmosphere, tell me what the hell just happened."

He stomps over to the chair at the pilot's controls and straps himself in. I mimic their movements, strapping myself in. It's a small seat in a row of several, each row along side of the small open area. There's no multiple levels on this thing, it's as wide as a flat-bed truck and as short as a smaller moving van. The cockpit is open to where the two rows of seats face each other, with a chair for pilot and copilot. There's room for some storage above our heads, but not much. There's a few thin doors like airplane bathrooms, bookending the ramp. Lockers or bathrooms, I should think. Maybe both.

They're both dark gray.

The box containing the "germ" is simply tied down in the center of the space, unassumingly tame looking.

I glance over at Mr. Stark and Bucky.

They move fluidly as a team, working controls they are both familiar with, and it looks so normal I nearly forget that in my universe, it would be someone like Colonel Rhodes seated beside him, maybe Widow, as she does a lot of flying. Bucky, though, is certainly not out of place here.

I mean, I guess if you don't get along in one universe, maybe you're best friends in another universe.

Maybe Hulk and Thanos are sitting side by side on a beach, sipping champagne and toasting their favorite destructive memories.

I let out a hysterical giggle, and then clench my teeth shut, hoping Stark and Bucky don't decide I'm too unstable to bring along.

My worries are unfounded, though. They're too busy turning on everything in the ship and starting the engines.

We lift off in seconds, the nose of the ship dipping in a little too quickly, then the back end lurching forward, a sort of uncertain jet stream of engine noise growing louder and louder.

The quinjet streaks out of the plaza like a machine-gun banshee. The color outside the cockpit window… I guess it doesn't count as a windshield if there's no air in space… is a bright, morning blue.

A blue all too quickly darkening, like a light on a dimmer. It's turning blacker and blacker.

The metal jostles behind me and I grip the orb tightly in one hand, the other reaching up and grasping my shoulder strap, turning my face away from the window above their head's before I see the first twinkle of stars.

Flying in space will forever make me nervous. My last trip… no, make that my last TWO trips weren't exactly great experiences…

Small potatoes.

"So I have a theory about tough love," Stark's voice drifts lazily from the open cockpit.

"Here we go," Bucky sighs.

"What?"

"Just go talk to him, don't test-drive your parenting on me first."

"How does one breach the subject of I just caught you stealing?"

I look down at the orb in my hand.

Holy holy holy shit…

I have an infinity stone. Like an actual infinity stone. Or at least part of one inside this sphere thing. I'm not about to open it to find out, my spider sense is enough for now.

I got the briefest crash-course about infinity stones as we barreled towards Titan on that donut-ship… and now I REALLY wish they had spent a little extra time telling me more about them. To quote Mr. Stark, I got jackshit.

"Could have been worse," Bucky shrugs.

"Oh, yeah, he could have mugged him first. That might make it worse. Maybe the only reason he didn't was because Elphaba was doing it for him."

"Elphaba? Her name was Elphaba? How the hell do you know all these space women?"

"It's not - no. That was a… god, you and Rogers both. You're killing me." Stark breathes out too long and too slowly. "The Wicked Witch of the West? Ring any bells?"

"Ding dong," Bucky replies evenly. "The witch is dead."

I hold the orb in my trembling hands, spying another brief flash of purple deep inside of the sphere. I wish there was a guide I could read about what colors meant what destructive power. For all I know, this is what turned Thanos into the purple Titan I met. Maybe he was small and gray before he possessed any stones.

The possibilities - and the things I don't know - are making my head hurt.

Why did I TAKE this thing? It doesn't change anything that happened in my universe! Just because I have this one does not immediately remove it from the gauntlet of the big bad himself!

But now I have one of the six most powerful things in the universe.

Shit shit shit. I'm in so much trouble.

Or I'm not.

The infinity stones are the most powerful items in the universe, aren't they? Not just my old universe… any universe. It doesn't matter which dimension I'm in… having just one infinity stone means sort of ruling that dimension, doesn't it? I mean not, ruling ruling, like King Kong on a skyscraper or Thanos on his giant royal space-toilet, but… but maybe an ability to change things… an opportunity…

If I can use this one to learn something about Thanos, maybe when Dr. Strange's future comes to pass, I go back to my real world, rise out of the ground like "What's UP, guys? Did you miss me?" and then I use all my new-found knowledge to help save the world and…

But if I'm going to learn how to defeat Thanos, a guy wearing a golden-glove with all six, how could I hope to learn anything if I only have one?

This is exactly how every villain origin story starts… desperation and good intentions. I'm not short on either.

The thing is, villains are always gunning for power and world domination, aren't they? I'm not - I wouldn't. I just need an upper hand.

Oh, and the ability to cross worlds and reanimate my ashes, but, one problem at a time.

I don't realize I'm staring at the floor until a pair of black boots steps into my view.

I glance up. "Uh… whatchya doing?"

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest. "Stark forgot to ask the wizard for courage, so, you get the tin man."

"Ha," I say uncomfortably.

"BraVO, James!" Stark applauds from the front. "I mean it's a shame that you both seem to be entirely limited to references from one movie, but, it's better than nothing."

"Stealing," Bucky says slowly. "Is… wrong."

I nod. "Yes."

Bucky looks at Stark for help. "And you did it anyway."

I nod again, looking at the floor. "Yes."

Bucky stares at me. "I mean… do you normally do this sort of thing?"

I shake my head. "No, not at all."

Stark pipes up. "First time offense, I should think."

"You handle this, Stark, I'LL fly," Bucky starts to turn away in frustration, then rethinks this, and looks down at me again. "Look, kid," he says. "I'm sure you had your reasons."

Mr. Stark coughs.

Bucky sits beside me. "What is that thing?"

"This is uh… uh…" I fight for the right words. "This is an artifact that needs to be protected and when I saw the brawl and it fell out of his pocket and CLEARLY no one realized…"

"There you are, autopilot and cloaking! Thank you, Shield tech." Mr. Stark pushes away from the controls and turns his seat around with a satisfied grunt. "That should hold it for awhile. You may unbuckle your seat belts and move about the cabin."

I absently unbuckle my straps and stretch my legs out, holding the orb loosely in my hand. This suit feels awful. I really need a shower.

"Now… Peter Benjamin Parker," Mr. Stark says. "Whatever will I tell your Aunt when we get back?"

"Nothing," I say sullenly. "I have no excuses. This is something I needed and… I took it. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Mr. Stark stands up, tucks his hands in his pockets, and walks over to us. "Try us," he says. "I promise it can't be much crazier than a group of Xandarians offering us freedom in exchange for carrying dangerous goods off-planet."

"It IS crazier," I say quickly.

"Well, Jesus, kid, don't play dumb, because we aren't dumb either," Bucky exclaims.

"Okay, okay!" I gulp. "It's just - it's just not something I can say - I mean - I haven't even thought this through yet! Here's the thing, it's just… I'm… well it's a thing that could save the world and it's safer in my hands than in anyone else's. So I made a, uh, a choice, and I took it, and I'm keeping it."

"Let me put this politely," Mr. Stark replies, "What the hell is it?"

"Remember when I mentioned Thanos?" I ask carefully. "When I asked who was threatening Earth?"

"Vaguely... Who is that?"

"Okay - so - like - I sort of lied before. About the aliens kidnapping me and stuff. It wasn't really what I let you believe."

"This 'Thanos-guy' stashed you aboard the same ship that the Grandmaster put us on?" Bucky asks slowly, pointing out how ludicrous is sounds by his tone of disbelief.

"No - Thanos - he - sort of, took over the whole world, and like, reversed time or something, I'm a little hazy on the details, he killed millions, and defeated the Avengers, and…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Mr. Stark holds up a hand. "Excuse me. We're still alive and well, thank you. Just a little scattered. You want to run that by me again, Doomsday?"

"I told you you wouldn't believe me!" I exclaim frustratingly.

"Okay, before you appeared magically on board the Grandmaster's vessel," Bucky tries patiently, "What happened where YOU'RE from?" He seems to be getting it.

"We lost the war." I look away. "If I tell you who died… maybe it ruins our chances of changing it."

Maybe it's not a spoiler if it's me. I'm the one who bit the dust, after all.

"Are you really giving us a 'I'm from the future' bit?" Mr. Stark throws up his hands. "I thought you were going for believable excuses for stealing…" He runs his hands through his hair and turns around agitatedly. "This is… this is…"

I was actually going the alternate reality route, but… good enough.

"I know you don't believe me…" I sigh.

"Did Strange put you up to this?" Mr. Stark grouses. "This has that son of bitch's scent all over it."

"Oh, that's right, you know Dr. Strange," I brighten up. At least I can try and make SOME of the pieces fit together here…

"Oh, yes, we've met," Mr. Stark rubs his temples exhaustedly. "Oh, Jesus. This is a disaster. Shit shit shit." He starts pacing back and forth, then stops and points at me. "And Dr. Strange thought sending YOU back to US in the middle of SPACE was a good idea?"

"No, it was my idea," I say quickly. "He didn't support it at all."

"So how the hell did this HAPPEN?"

"I really can't… you know… go into that," I sigh.

"Your Back to the Future jokes make a lot more sense now, you little punk," Mr. Stark continues, emotions escalating rapidly. "You should have told me. You SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME. The second you could. This isn't shit that you play around with. This is everyone's futures we're talking about, here? Do you understand that?"

I stand up, angry at the insinuation. "Of course I UNDERSTAND that! Why do you think I risked EVERYTHING to - to - to follow your tails into space ANYWAY to try and defeat Thanos when it means absolute certain death? Why do you think I'd do something like that? I'm trying to HELP!"

Mr. Stark looks fairly nonplussed, though a little confused, by my outburst. "Clearly there is a lot you haven't told me about this impending FUTURE you're trying to prevent."

"Yeah, well, I can't!" I bark, starting my own pacing routine back and forth. "If I could, I would - there's a lot you wouldn't understand, so I can't… you can't… it doesn't matter! None of it does! Certain things can't be undone, no matter what Dr. Strange says. I don't think he's right. I say it and I act like I believe it but I don't think there is a way to reverse what's happened. But I'll be damned if I don't try and I'll be damned if I do, so what's the difference?" I hold the orb out so he can look at it. He makes no move to do so. "This thing might not even matter in the long run. Maybe I try to cross - uh - over - timelines - you know. Like. Travel somewhere else. Or…"

"Time travel," Bucky says helpfully. He sounds exhausted. "I think the phrase you're looking for is time travel."

"Yeah, okay, TIME TRAVEL," I groan. "Maybe I try it and this thing turns to dust in my hands. But what if it doesn't? What if I can use it?"

"You have one more chance to tell me WHAT THE HELL IT IS," Mr. Stark nearly shouts, getting in my face. He pulls out every stop he has for being an intimidating mentor, Iron-Man, billionaire and Avenger all in one… with something imposing and meant to be obeyed, like Uncle Ben preparing to ground me. I've seen the expression before. It's like having a Dad, or so I've heard. "Give me a reason for not handing it over to this Collector guy on Knowhere right alongside this damn GERM and SCREW the future."

"Because you don't KNOW this Collector guy!" I shout back. "You don't know what he's going to do with this, much less this stupid germ thing. But you know me, don't you? Mr. Stark!" My voice breaks and I swallow thickly. "Mr. Stark, I'm trying to save us. Okay? Save you, me, Strange, Mr. Bucky - er, Bucky - everyone. Don't you trust me enough to at least try?"

Silence falls over us like a blanket. I feel sweat prickling at the back of my neck and scalp. I haven't argued like this with Mr. Stark since he took my suit. But I've grown up since then.

Mr. Stark softens, but does not relent. He crosses his arms over his chest, and I feel his anger rolling off of him in waves. "I get that YOU think you're doing the right thing," he says deeply, "But I'm not going to just blindly agree to something that could change a future that may very well be set in stone anyway. You have one more shot at telling me what this sphere is, or," he puts his hands on my shoulders. "I make the hard call. I hand this thing over to the Collector. We get track down Banner and get back to Earth. We try and fight Hela as we planned to. If this future happens, then, it happens, but we handle it. Like a team." He gives my shoulders a little shake. "Give me a reason to let you keep it."

"It's one of the infinity stones," I answer quickly. "There, happy? It's an infinity stone."

He pulls back. "And what the hell is an infinity stone?"

"You know, like," I tap my forehead with one finger. "Like Vision?"

"Visions of what?"

"Oh, you don't have Vision?" I blink. That's one major weirdness about different universes… I have no idea what's changed until I trip over it. "The android guy? From the airport?"

Bucky and Mr. Stark both stare at me like I grew an extra pair of ears. "Okay, okay, listen," I hold out the orb again. Mr. Stark takes it this time, carefully, and examines the twisty, floral patterns in the metal. "This thing, it's just, a container," I continue. "The real thing INSIDE is like, this purple stone that is made out of some sort of big-bang magic that created the universe AND can help destroy it. Thanos took it to do just that. But now I have it instead. So…" I slow down and take a deep breath. "I'm just going to… hang on to it. Until I can figure out what to do next."

I fall silent. Mr. Stark hands it back to me.

Bucky stands up and rolls his shoulders, cracking joints a little too loudly. "So you stole a bomb."

"Don't over simplify this," Stark answers swiftly. He looks back at me. "You - should - have - told - me."

"I was a little distracted by DYING," I reply cruelly. "There didn't seem to be a good time to have a meeting about this."

Mr. Stark closes his eyes briefly like I punched him.

"I didn't mean that," I backpeddle quickly. "I didn't. I'm sorry. But I DO mean there didn't seem to be a good time between the ship crashing and the… it was… everything was distracting. I was just trying to get in and get my bearings. You're right, I should have told you."

"Damn right you should have," Mr. Stark says.

"You said one of the infinity stones," Bucky says, holding out his hand. I place it in his palm and he brings it up to his eyes, rolling it back and forth and looking for the seam to open it. Finding none, he hands it back. "How many are there?"

"Oh," I think back, furrowing my brows. "I think there's five. Like, one per finger. Or six. No, I think there's six altogether, but, Thanos didn't have all of them when I fought him. I don't remember how many he had. Four? Five? I was a little distracted with the whole… you know… battle…"

"This big battle that takes place," Mr. Stark says. "In our future. Can you at least tell us…"

"I don't think so," I interrupt quickly. "I'm probably breaking every time travel rule in the book, aren't I? By trying to change what will happen?"

Bucky nods. "I would say yes, if this were a film. But it's not. I call it gathering intel before a mission."

"I appreciate that you are trying to save the world and everything," Mr. Stark says, the anger finally dissipating. "Look, I get it. I do. You have a chance to change something horrible. Even though I don't know what that is… I get it. I know what you'd want to try."

"Then let me try," I whisper desperately. "Please let me try."

Mr. Stark doesn't have a chance to agree or disagree.

"YOU ARE APPROACHING KNOWHERE," says the feminine voice from the controls. "PLEASE RESUME MANUAL CONTROL."

…

...

* * *

...

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Coming Next: Unexpectedly possessing an infinity stone, Peter has unwittingly begun the domino effect of evil plot twists.

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Worlds BIGGEST shout out to the best fiffer, Crystal, who this story is for (happy super early birthday!) Her enthusiasm and her incredible writing and art inspires me EVERY day. Her fangirling over this chapter was pure comedy gold and made me feel ALL the feels.

Please be sure to check out her "Paint It Black" universe here in fanfiction. There's currently three books, the third in progress. First: Paint it Black, Second: Silent Night, Third: Riders in the Sky. They are SO AMAZING and her writing is just delicious and incredibly sensory. Find her stories in my favorites or her penname QueenofCrystallopia in my favorite authors!

* * *

 **PERSONAL REVIEWER REPLIES THIS TIME :)**

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TheStarsAreBroken: Thank you love :)

NursingStudent: God bless you for the review. Not sure if your penname represents what you actually currently do, but if you are a nursing student, I'm sending long hours of sleep, wide-awake study time, and many hugs and cookies your way... if not a nursing student... just... yeah, I'm still sending those things anyway lol (hug)

Guest: Thank you dearie (hug)

locky3670: Love YOU

AppleSpongeCake: I love this prompt SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO much I CANNOT even and I already have a scene in my head and the feels and... GAH. Dude. I have a spot in this story where it (might) work. I have everything pre-summarized and outlined so there is a spot where I may squeeze it in, or at least a hint or a tribute to it. we'll see. I'd frickin LOVE to.

ShadowedNara: Oh man, I can see how it would be confusing with a lot of characters if you haven't seen all the movies... apologies in advance for all the spoilers! I am so glad you're enjoying though.

TeamCaptain2016: Peter certainly tries - one of my favorite flaws about him is that even in all his goodness, he's quite dishonest, lol. Even when he tries to tell them the truth, he STILL works in lies. It's one of the fascinating things about his character in every comic and movie!

EleanorGardner: Me TOO, oh my gosh. Freaking infinity war broke me. I couldn't even go see it in the theater a second time. I was just too dead. This story is keeping my brain intact lol

AndurilofTolkien: I like YOU

cargumentluv: AW its so nice to see... hear? Read from you? I know I haven't posted in Kahena in a LOOOONG time. I am so happy you're here and enjoying this one. Much love! Thank you for the review!

64Felicity & curry-llama: It ended up being a double-pun because they do get there really fast but still don't actually land on Knowhere until the next chapter lol... I felt like both pain and pride in this XD Thanks for the reviews!

Agent Melinda May: The only thing that would make this story better is if YOU were in it, May! ;) ;) Seriously though thank you so much for the review. I really hope this story helps bridge the gap. Hopefully the ending will... ya know, line up somehow, but since I can't possibly guess how they'll begin Avengers 4, it'll be really hard lol


	11. Part III: Power - Middle of Knowhere

PART THREE - POWER

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Chapter Eleven

 _In the Middle of Knowhere_

* * *

…

...

"That seemed fast," Mr. Stark says confusedly. He looks at me. "There's some bags hanging on the wall. Get that stone shit in a bag or something, wear it, and do not breathe a word about it. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," I say, walking to where he points. There are weird little sets of bags, space-masks, and jackets hanging in and around small lockers I noticed before, stacked in the wall by the enclosed ramp in the back.

I pick a bag, but there's already crap in it. Oh well. Better to hide the orb in, amongst other small containers and pieces of junk I couldn't even begin to identify. I don't look too closely. I'm sure some of them are emergency tins of dry food and other things that might work for emergency landings. Maybe there's even a parachute in here.

"Short trip," Bucky comments.

Mr. Stark marches back to the console and straps himself in. "Didn't that space-journey seem a little fast to you, Barnes? We've been traveling for… how long? 30 minutes? Less?"

"Are you going to question the time it takes for an ALIEN ship to fly through the galaxy from one planet we've never heard of to another planet we've never heard of to deposit a biohazard weapon that the Xandarians said would make us a TARGET?" Bucky asks, strapping in beside him. "I'm not going to question it."

"Why? Winter Soldier just prefers taking orders as they're given? No critical thinking skills?"

"No interest," Bucky corrects. "And this was your damn deal, not mine. I'm looking at this like a mission. Get in, and get out. One more thing to do till we get back to Earth. I'll save my over-thinking for whatever Steve will tell me. I missed out on a lot."

I hook a small satchel over one shoulder and around my waist, tuck the orb inside the main pocket, and then button it shut. For good measure, I tug a pair of brown pants over my suit, and a jacket. Anything to make this bright red and blue thing a little less obvious. I don't want to stand out as a spandexed superhero in a planet I've never been to before.

"I'm a little hurt, Barnes," says Stark. "I thought we had something."

Bucky doesn't know how to decipher this. "Something of what?"

"Camaraderie? Repertoire?"

Bucky shrugs. "If you like." He taps the screen, ignoring Starks obvious scoff. "The destination is already programmed but we need to…"

"PLEASE STATE YOUR DESTINATION," says a voice again. I trot back to my seat and strap myself in.

"TANELEER TARVIN," Mr. Stark says.

"TIVAN," Bucky says loudly. "TANELEER TIVAN, please. We are expected."

"ON WHOSE AUTHORITY?" says the woman's voice.

"THE NOVA EMPIRE," Mr. Stark and Bucky say at the same time. Mr. Stark grins at Bucky. "Synergy," he whispers.

"YOU MAY PROCEED," says the voice.

Bucky eases the controls over to the left, and then right. "Whoa," he says, leaning over the console to get a better look through the curve of the window.

"Holy shit," says Mr. Stark.

"That's not a planet," Bucky breathes. "That's uh…"

"That's an effing head," Mr. Stark finishes.

I crane for a look myself, but I'm too far back for a good view.

Screw this!

I unbuckle the straps and walk quietly up behind Bucky and Mr. Stark, leaning over their shoulders. They obviously notice, but resign to it, instead of telling me to go back and put my seatbelt on like a child roaming free in a minivan.

"Feast your eyes, kid," Mr. Stark says. "Hopefully this is the last time we see something this janked before we're safe at home."

The view out the window is… well, it's not what I was expecting.

The star-spangled eternal night of space slowly gives way to an atmosphere that has a slight greenish hue, thick gold space-clouds building up on each other like a sickly sunset.

What should be a globe - a planet - is really a round curve of a skull. A giant skull glittering with lights and structures inside. It's partially decimated, as if someone exploded a space-giant's body, obliterating everything except the head, or even most of the head is gone too. There's gaping holes where the eyes should go, and the back of it disintegrated. The broken jaw hangs partially open, revealing a hint of cities built inside, stacked against the inside of the jawbones like pirate's gold teeth. Ships of various sizes and classes fly in and out of the eye and mouth like an ordinary traffic stop.

"Who once had a head so big that people can live in it…?" Mr. Stark asks rhetorically.

We pass under its shadow, the sickly lights fading in and out around us, other ships droning by slowly as we join the line of traffic. We aim right for one of the eye sockets, the darkness growing deeper and more artificial the closer we get to the inhabited areas. What looks like an eyeball is bright blue, but it's really just the edges of a deep tunnel, taking us further and further into the recess of this monster.

It really looks like, from the inside, a graveyard of broken ships all sewn together. I see docks sticking out of the walls of the tunnels, platforms being landed on by various peoples in their ships. There's shapes of movement, darkness of crowds moving through alleyways between the haphazard structures.

I gulp involuntarily.

"YOU ARE CLEARED FOR LANDING ON PLATFORM RED," says the woman's voice. "THANK YOU FOR VISITING KNOWHERE. THE COLLECTOR HAS BEEN INFORMED OF YOUR PRESENCE."

There's an awkward silence.

"Thank you," I exclaim over their shoulders. "Have a nice day."

The woman's voice replies hesitantly. "Y-YES. THANK YOU?" the slight feedback instantly clicks off.

Bucky and Mr. Stark don't have any trouble aiming the ship for the small red light blinking above one of the many platforms. They know how to fly a quinjet easily. Having one upgraded by some unknown Xandarian for space-travel is probably new, though.

This dimension is really weird.

The ship settles onto the platform with a groaning ease of engines powering down. The landing gear thumps, making my stomach jolt nervously. The ramp automatically lowers with a shriek of steam, and we wait for it to clear, standing ready to disembark. Bucky picks up the brass cube containing the germ. In the other hand, he rests a huge gun on one shoulder.

"Where did you find that?" I ask.

Bucky nods his head back towards a space in the floor beside the wheeled container that held the cube. The grating had been pulled up, revealing a storage space beneath.

Mr. Stark also shoulders a large gun. "Just in case," he winks. "They did say we were a target."

A small woman is standing at the start of a floating catwalk, connecting the platform to an entrance inside the tunnel of the socket. She holds her hands together in a clasp as if she's about to start singing Christmas carols.

We approach her purposefully, our confusion etched across our faces.

"Welcome to Knowhere," she says brightly. "Please follow me."

She's wearing pigtails and a white dress more appropriate for Sunday School than a spaceport in a rotting giant's head. That's not the weirdest thing, though. The weirdest thing is that her skin is bright pink.

Mr. Stark gives me a shit-eating grin over his shoulder. I feel all is forgiven, for now. He's got to trust me. Even if his trust doesn't matter in the big picture, I can't live in the loneliness of knowing that one Mr. Stark is grieving and the other doesn't trust me. No matter how many Avengers, dead or otherwise, that I run into, I don't think I could handle an alternate universe in which we don't gel together as a team.

If I stumbled into something where everyone was Hydra, or, like, everyone embraced Thanos and let him take over… I'd hit that white door faster than I could…

Wait. Where is the white door?

We enter the tunnel. The floor is made of grating with blue lights underneath. In the enclosed hall around us, there's museum-cases of weird artifacts, a suit of armor of some kind and weapons hanging on display. Between some of the displays, there are sliding blast doors leading to god-knows-where. One of them is white.

I take stock of it and keep moving forward.

One of the glass cases has a small dog inside dressed as an astronaut.

"What the hell is that?" Bucky can't help but whisper out loud. I lean down and get a good look, and the dog licks its own muzzle.

Holy shit, it's definitely a real dog in a space-suit in a case. How is it even alive in there?

"Please follow me," repeats Pink, her tour-guide sparkle carrying an undercurrent of teeth-gritting fear. "Don't delay."

We give each other a glance. I'm glad everyone else notices how weird this all is, like we just stumbled into a joint fever-dream of David Bowie and Gene Roddenberry.

Pink Girl leads us up the metal stairs leaving the grated floor, taking us into another large room, so full of junk and tall glass cases that we turn sideways to get through the main area where there's a worktable covered in weird shit. There's glass displays backlit by various colors stacked along the floor, above us on ledges, and some of them on top of each other, like a museum curator decided to play jenga with the exhibits.

Sitting at the table is a man wearing a scarf of white fur over dark armor. Hands in gloves, he bends over a small S-shaped trinket, working at the edge with a sharp tool like he's trying to pry it open. Funny goggles like microscopes implanted in his eyes narrow in on his work, a painted lip pursed in concentration. The funniest of all is his white mussy hair, standing on end like he's permanently surprised by static electricity.

I spy the edge of another white door behind one of the aquariums, which holds a giant plant that looks like it's about to start singing and dancing at any time.

"May I present the illustrious Taneleer Tivan, the Collector," says the pink girl.

I feel a strange quake of fear flickering in my belly with nausea. The same sort of… spider-sense that alerted me to the infinity stone that Quill was running away with. It starts slow, like a feverish wave, and then tingles my spine with an ice-cold chill.

Wait a second… That feeling had dissipated before.

I glance down at my satchel. There's nothing happening there. I don't FEEL anything - no current threat other than it's dangerous presence - emanating from my bag. But it's somehow dormant. I'm not using it, so it's not an active alert to immediate injury or violence.

Why resurge again?

"Oh, yessss," the Collector drawls slowly, as if he took a gulp of molasses right before we walked in. He doesn't bother looking up from his work. "The Xandarian stewards on a suicide mission. I trust it was successful?"

Bucky and Mr. Stark glance at each other.

"Not yet," Mr. Stark says, nodding to Bucky. Bucky leans forward and sets the cube, none too gently, onto the table. A tug of nausea echoes between me and the cube.

"There," Mr. Stark says. "Now it's successful. I trust we can leave the same way we came in?"

The Collector stands abruptly, snatching up the cube in one hand and dropping his tool. He holds it to his face, and to my surprise, takes a deep sniff. The goggles over his eyes whir and regress, flattening into lenses like sunglasses, which he then pulls off of his face and sets on the table.

"It's lovely," he murmurs. He looks like he's about to start kissing the thing.

"The same way we came in," repeats Bucky. He looks at us. "Let's go. NOW."

The spider-senses are still clamoring for my attention. Pushing, slamming, clattering, making it difficult to concentrate. It makes my eyes dart over to the left of the table. There's something sitting on the edge, a small cylindrical device no bigger than a thermos. There's something glowing red inside.

No… effing… way…

Not twice.

There's no way I'm that lucky.

I mean, I'm technically dead, so anything at all is pretty darn lucky.

"Don't you want your payment?" the Collector asks slowly, moving fluidly out from behind his table. He sets the cube right back where Bucky had set it before. He holds out his hand like he is about to sing our praises and invite us to stay for wine and cheese. "You've brought me something of great value. Whatever you want - it's yours. I have a credits by the bucketful for your endeavors."

"We don't want…" Bucky begins.

"That," I say quickly, pointing to the cylinder on the table. "I want to trade. The cube for the cylinder."

Mr. Stark and Bucky both look at me as if I broke out into a disco dance. They're too stunned to protest or interrupt, and I take their silence as a good sign.

"What?" I say, when the Collector's face blanches slightly. "You said we could have whatever we want." I point at the cylinder again. "I want that."

"Do you even know what this is?" the Collector asks demurely, picking up the cylinder and stroking one finger down it.

"Do you?" I snap back.

"Tut, tut," says the Collector. "I may not know what is contained inside, but I know this was a gift from Thor, the prince of Asgard." The corner of his lip twitches, greedily. "It has… sentimental value."

I snatch up the cube again, and immediately at my touch, I feel myself grow pale with confused spider-warnings. "Then no trade!" I tuck it into my satchel. "Your loss." I look at Stark and Bucky. "Let's go."

I've never gambled before, but maybe I don't need to. I'm putting on pure Spider-Man bravado right now and just trying to believe in it.

I start to walk away. Stark and Bucky don't even follow, they're too surprised.

"Wait," the Collector sighs tiredly before I can even take a second step. "Come back, boy. Come back." He sounds like he's trying to coax me into a pool where he can drown me. A junkyard siren. "We'll trade. What is this worth except for its historical value for a dark elf long dead?" He holds out his hand, and I turn back to him. "The cube. For Thor's gift to me."

"Deal," I say, pulling the cube out of my bag once more, and placing it into his palm. I feel nothing when I do this. I guess my spidey-sense is relieved to be rid of it.

There's an awkward beat where the Collector just stands there, holding both the cylinder and the cube, weighing them both in his meaty hands.

Mr. Stark steps up supportively behind me, putting his free hand on my shoulder. "You heard him," he says firmly. "Thor's gift, if you please."

The Collector reluctantly hands it to me. "This will be our little secret," he replies. "Thor's trophy from his latest battle is a great treasure. Bear it well."

I put it in my satchel with the rest of the junk, catching a quick glimpse of the orb. I'm really glad he doesn't know I have it. He sounds like the type of guy who, if he knew he possessed an infinity stone, he would not be handing it over to anyone. In fact, he'd probably try to take over the universe himself.

The Collector blinks for a moment, as if thinking of a theory, and then waving it aside as if it's too crazy too consider. "And boy," he says sickeningly. "If someday you discover what is contained inside, I'd love to have a little… chat." He heaves a sigh as if recalling better years long past. "My associates and I could not open it, for all the powers we possess or can… obtain. Thor's gift has ever been a mystery. A mystery that… should you solve it… consider my doors open to you should you ever return. We'll drink. We'll talk."

"We'll pretend you didn't just offer drinks to a child," Mr. Stark gives him a winning smile. "Thanks for letting us take up so much of your time. Goodbye now."

The Collector flicks his hand at us as if to say BEGONE. He returns to his table, cradling the cube like a kitten.

The pink girl begins to lead us out, a strange, plastic smile on her face.

"Carina," the Collector calls after us, his voice leaden with something unspoken. "There is no need for you to follow them out to their ship. They can find their own way."

The pink girl's face crumbles, but only for a millisecond. She plasters on an obedient expression before turning back. "Very well, your excellence," she replies.

"Come, Pooter," Mr. Stark says loudly. I realize he is using my very new and very unfortunate nickname on purpose. He doesn't want to call me Peter in front of the Collector, a man oozing with danger in ways I can't describe. He is no closer to brandishing a weapon and trying to hurt us than the dog in the glass case, but still… words are weapons, too.

I look at Mr. Stark, and back at Carina, confused. Then like Carina, I obey.

I take one last glance at the Collector before we step down into the metal stairwell between hanging exhibits. He's sitting back at the table, admiring the cube. He holds it up to his ear, and listens.

What he hears, I could not possibly guess.

Carina stands behind him at attention, hands clasped, grin frozen.

As we start making our way down the metal stairs, Bucky ventures a whisper.

"Carina," he says carefully. "You think she wanted to stowaway with us?"

"I think so," Mr. Stark says. "She's probably looking for a way out of servitude."

"Then we should help her," I hiss quickly, surprised I didn't pick up on this. "If she's here against her will… we can't just leave her!"

"We probably shouldn't turn a blind eye to animal cruelty, either," Stark snaps back quietly. "But I only care about one kid right now, and that's you. I don't know what sort of shit you think you're pulling, but the Collector is not the type of guy you can swindle."

"And how do you know that?" I ask stubbornly, even though I know he's right.

"The man simply reeks of murder and money," Bucky replies simply. "You're lucky he didn't call in backup for trying to turn a drop-off into a trade. He was willing to give us money and you asked for the one thing he is absolutely certain to change his mind about. It was a foolish gamble and we aren't away from his reach yet."

I feel chastised. "I'm sorry."

"Save it for the quinjet." Mr. Stark says. "I only care about getting off this thing alive and getting you home to your Aunt May in one piece. Er - wait - I guess you don't NEED to go back to your aunt if your the time-traveling guru, now, right?"

"I honestly don't know," I respond, feeling lower than low.

"If you keep making dumb bets on people's good natures, or even their stupidity," Bucky says, "You are going to wind up dead in the past and no way to change this future of yours."

I nod slowly. I see his point, I really do.

We reach the platform, and duck under the entrance of the ramp. Bucky rushes for the controls and hits the button so fast to bring up the ramp that he cracks the interface.

WHOOSH. The ramp begins to lift with a grinding whine, letting out puffs of steam. Once it seals itself shut, Mr. Stark and Bucky plug in coordinates for Earth.

"Take us home, Scottie," Mr. Stark sighs with relief, setting his gun down.

"I got this for a few minutes," Bucky sits down in the chair. "Will you talk some sense into your kid before he gets us all killed? And strap in."

Mr. Stark huffs his lips out with displeasure, turning back to me. I stand awkwardly in the middle of the small hangar, holding my satchel shoulder strap tightly in my hands.

Neither of us move to sit down. "Or not," Bucky mutters.

"So," Mr. Stark says slowly, planting his hands on his hips. "You obviously know what Thor's gift to the Collector is. Spill it. What's in the cylinder?"

I open the bag and pull out the cylinder, handing it over to Mr. Stark. "It's another infinity stone," I whisper.

The ship lurches, and I clutch at the container that they wheeled the germ in.

"I can't… I mean, I am sure," I say. "There's a certain way my body reacts to dangers that…"

"Yes, yes, spider-sense, I know all about that," Mr. Stark waves me on. "So you reacted a certain way and knew that the infinity stone was in the cylinder, and that the Collector should NOT have it?"

"That about sums it up," I reply meekly. There's a silence, and Mr. Stark hands the cylinder back to me. He doesn't look like he wants to believe there's anything in it, but will anyway, because I'm the one telling him there is.

"Are you mad?" I ask tentatively.

"I'm furious," Mr. Stark exclaims. "How long do you expect Barnes and I to just serve as possible collateral damage to your savior's journey so that you can pop back into the future using magic stones to save our future selves?"

I blink. "I didn't think of you like… like…"

"I need you to think, Peter!" Mr. Stark taps the side of his head. "For God's sake, just think!"

"We're clearing the skull," Bucky informs us. The view outside of the window begins to brighten briefly with green and gold lights, and then soften again into space-black.

"No thanks to YOU!" Mr. Stark points at me. "Collector Jr. here is banking on happy accidents in order to save the world and…"

"Please don't be mad," I say, but I feel like I deserve it. He's right. I'm just like… a tinier, nicer version of Thanos, right? A puppy at his ankles, collecting infinity stones to try and fix a universe that I believe is broken… and just to save my own life. Well, and the others who died before me, but still. And I don't know how many others died after me.

But it's still selfish.

"You're right," I say. "You're absolutely right. I'm really sorry. I won't do… anything like that again. I swear. I won't."

Mr. Stark looks a little surprised by my apology. "Even if you think you've got a future to get back to?" he asks.

"Especially," I promise. "I couldn't live with myself if I screwed over everyone here just because the means justifies the end. They don't. I might not even be able to change anything anyway. So why do all the wrong things to do the right thing? It doesn't make any sense."

Bucky looks over his shoulder at me and smiles. "You're a good kid. Just… do what Tony says. THINK." He turns back to the controls. "We've cleared the Knowhere atmosphere. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think we'll actually…"

"Don't jinx it," Mr. Stark interrupts quickly.

"I didn't peg you as superstitious," Bucky answers.

"I'm not, but don't effing jinx it, Barnes," Mr. Stark repeats. He looks back at me, and his expression softens. "Peter," he says. "I'm… I'm realizing you're not… well, if you're from the future, the not too distant future guessing by your age and the fact that your voice has only dropped by just a smidge…"

"Hey," I protest, and my voice characteristically squeaks.

"I'm REALIZING," Mr. Stark repeats, "That you're not the SAME Peter that we left behind in Queens. Timeline or no timeline… I'm sure… I mean, I can tell when a guy has seen some shit. You've obviously been through a lot. Jesus, when the air got sucked out of the hangar…"

I shudder.

"I thought we lost you and I… I can't stand the thought of being the one responsible for that. Not for a second. Even if somewhere in this time-traveling shit storm, there's a younger Peter with his Aunt May right now safe and sound. Even if I don't answer to her right now, I'm still going to do everything I can to keep you safe. Got it?"

I nod, warmed by his speech, but somehow even sadder than I was before. He's trying so hard to be supportive for a save-the-world story I made up that's only bits and pieces of a truth that's already half-dead. How could I possibly make this up to him - to any of them?

Save the world, I think. Try to use the stones.

Do what Thanos couldn't do and give life back instead of taking it.

"Thanks Mr. Stark," I say hoarsely. I return the cylinder to the satchel at my hip. I am about to close the flap when I see a flash of brassy gold tucked inside -

A lightheaded sickness washes me from head to foot, and then withers away.

What the everlasting hell…

Is that…

I gave it back. I gave the germ back to the Collector.

How…

HOW...

"All right, bring it in," Mr. Stark says with a reluctant sigh. "It's fine, we've reached that point now."

I hesitantly step forward for a hug, letting the flap of the satchel fall closed quickly. He gives me a big one, like a socially awkward grizzly bear. He slaps my back and few times and then pushes me away from him. "There now," he says. "I know for you, the world is ending as you know it, but right NOW, we're escaping from a dangerous psychopathic taxidermist in space and heading for Earth. What could be better?"

"That IS pretty good," I try to put on a fake smile.

Shit shit shit shit. I've ruined everything.

And right after I repaired our working relationships, too.

Shit.

Shit…

Mr. Stark returns to the co-pilot's chair. "So are you going to come to my wedding?" he asks Bucky.

Bucky glances at him. "You are inviting me to your wedding?"

"Why not?" Mr. Stark looks at me. "You too, Peter. You're coming, right?" He blinks. "Or did you GO to my wedding already? Can you tell me how it went? Was it nice? She doesn't jilt me at the altar, does she?"

I grin, but I literally have no idea about any of that. "I… I'll come to your wedding, Mr. Stark. I won't miss it."

"Atta boy," Mr. Stark says.

I look over my shoulder at the small door I noticed earlier. It's not white, it's dark gray. Safe if I need it. "That's a bathroom, right?"

"Yeah," Mr. Stark replies.

"Great," I march towards it, bag in white-knuckled grip.

"So this wedding of yours…" Bucky beings slowly. "Will… uh… Natasha Romanov be there?"

"Why do you ask?" Mr. Stark looks absolutely delighted.

I open and shut the tiny door quickly on the their conversation. There's no room in here, only a tiny toilet sticking out of the wall, and a tiny sink almost completely above it. It's even worse than an airplane bathroom. I mean, granted the only one I've been in was the one Happy and I took to Germany, but…

I rip open my satchel, breathing hard. This thing is full of crap. I start lifting out tins and broken pieces of metal and small zippered bags.

Yep, the cube is here. And there's another cube, too. No… there's three.

Okay.

So.

These types of containers are like... Xandarian tupperware. Commonplace.

I gave the Collector the wrong one. That's why I felt nothing when I handed it back to him. I had no flipping idea that there was more than one brass cube in my bag. I wouldn't have known the difference.

I dump everything out of the satchel into the empty sink. Then I take careful stock of what I am putting back in.

The orb.

The cylinder.

Both containing infinity stones. I need to… I mean, maybe somehow, we take them back to Earth, and we find someone smarter… more powerful… someone who can tell us how to use them. I leave the infinity stones with the Avengers, where they are safe.

Then I take the first white door I find back to the doorchard, full of meta-knowledge, ready to be resurrected. Then I help them take down Thanos - right?

But now the damn cube. Maybe I'm bringing an entirely new war to Earth by accidentally giving the Collector an empty one and keeping the biohazard one.

I hesitantly pick it up, holding it up to my ear, just like the Collector did. Obviously he would have heard nothing - I gave him the wrong one.

But me…

I press the cube close to my ear. For a moment, I THINK I hear something, almost like a whisper, but it's too difficult to tell. It could be the simple matter of pressing something metal too close to my eardrum. Hearing the ocean in a seashell, as it were.

I put the cube in my bag, relieved of the sickly feeling as soon as its out of my hand. Then I rezip the satchel, and stuff the other pieces of junk into the tiny opening in the wall labeled WASTE.

Taking a deep breath, I try to put on my innocent face. I just fixed everything with Bucky and Stark, and all seems forgiven right now. There's no way I can go back out there and tell them I accidentally switched cubes and truly swindled someone like the Collector.

They'd never forgive me.

And while I'm technically dead, I don't think I could live with that, either.

It's best I keep it secret till we are back on Earth.

Then I'll run away as fast as I can.

I look at my exhausted face in the mirror. There are huge dark circles under my eyes, and my cheeks look wan and thin.

"Pull it together, Spider-Man," I say to myself. "Just keep your head down and learn as much as you can. If it means saving them… it's worth it."

I turn back to the door for the hangar.

It's solid white.

"NO!" I scream at it, shocked by my sudden vehemency. It's not a real world, I tell myself. Not a real world, not a real world, not a real world…

My eyes fill with tears, regardless.

My only way out of this bathroom is back into the doorchard. The dimension of nothing. A dimension between nothings.

A white mist begins to leak in at the edges.

Not fair, not fair…

I look around the bathroom. There's nothing. No other exits. It's an effing closet with a toilet. I could never think to tear a hole in the side and try and escape - I would be sentencing this Bucky and Stark to their deaths, putting a hole in the side of the ship while they're happily flying towards home…

I press my forehead against the white door, letting out a choked sob.

Not fair.

I turn to the sink, and turn on the faucet. I take several deep gulps of water, and then splash my face. When in Rome…

I blot my face with an uncomfortably scratchy paper towel, and then turn and face the white door again. The white mist has pooled around my feet, and is slowly filling up like a sinking submarine.

I press my hands against the white door and push it open.

It creaks open like a door in a haunted house.

The view is expected. White, white, white. Door, door, door, door… damnit… damnit… damnit… I felt so close to finding answers. Collecting two infinity stones in one go? On my way to Earth to find the Avengers and learn what I can?

I really thought I was going to be able to bring something to the table.

I guess not.

I step over the threshold and let the door shut behind me. It clicks, and I could have sworn I heard the sound of the quinjet disappearing from the other side. With a sigh, I reach into my pocket and extract the sharpie. I write XANDAR VACATION in bold letters, and then put it back in my pocket.

I blink and open the door again. Just to check…

On the other side, I'm looking out into space.

And there's nothing between me and it.

Stars burning bright, dark blue clouds moving by invisible tugs through …

I feel ice cold air push against me as if I had opened a door onto Hoth.

I slam the door shut again. I guess the Xandar adventure is really, truly over.

I step away and feel the cool, quiet peace of the silent doorchard fall onto me again. Like a sort of magic spell, it reminds me of who I am - the one that died, the one that will do anything to go back and help save the world. As long as I do not cease to exist, I have to believe that there's still a chance. Even if Dr. Strange is really hard to believe. I imagine I must have sounded as crazy to Stark and Bucky. If they chose to believe me, I have to try and believe Dr. Strange.

As weird as it all is.

I feel a thump on my leg.

I look down in surprise.

I'm still wearing the satchel.

Holy shit.

I mean, it worked with the sharpie from Sam Wilson… why not infinity stones?

I tear the bag off my shoulder and set it down on the swirling white ground, ripping it open with heaving breaths.

All three are here.

The orb, the cylinder, the cube. Still radiating danger. Still powerful. Still the same objects here in this anti-life dimension as they were in another universe.

But the cube is trembling. No, not trembling. It's shaking. Something thumps inside of it.

I feel waves of danger coming from it - but new danger. Not a sickly, thoughtful danger, contained and waiting.

It's rage - hounding, howling, thundering rage.

I throw myself back from the bag just as the cube breaks apart, and the biohazard agent comes spilling out. It's liquid, thick like syrup, as solid black as paint.

"Holy shit," I whisper.

What have I done?

This can't be real.

This

can't

be

real.

Tendrils of black goo lash out like one of those toys you can put in a bathtub to watch it expand. The sticky substance overlaps, heaving pieces of itself onto pieces, growing exponentially bigger.

How is this happening? Did I really just release a giant, tumorous disease in a dimension with NOTHING in it except for ME?

The glob of black shifts out of the bag like a self-moving pile of laundry. Something out of the stringy pieces forms, like a limb, and claws at the ground, dragging it away from the cube.

Something deep echoes inside of it, rhythmically, lyrically. Like a velociraptor being held underwater.

It's… breathing.

I think maybe the Nova Corps wasn't entirely honest with us.

Another limb expands and slaps out onto the ground. Even the mist parts ways from it, when the black mass writhes and wriggles away from its prison and stretches out…

I see the shape of something like a torso. A body. Two legs stretching out behind it, trying to find footing.

I'm so terrified I've completely frozen, watching in horrible fascination. My spidey-senses have crescendoed into a complete migraine.

A lump rises from the center. A neck, quaking from side to side, and from it, a head, out of the blackness, just as black as the rest. A solid humanoid shape of teeming, quivering darkness. I feel nothing but rage, evil, and something like hunger pummeling from it in shockwaves.

The head turns towards me.

From the blackness of a blank face with no discernable features, no nose or mouth, a pair of black lids slowly lift. Eyelids peeling far higher than a human, revealing massive, gaping white eyes, bulging, with no irises.

The eyes - even without those - take me in. I can feel its hungry curiosity.

The head tilts from side to side, a small pair of holes appearing where a nose should be.

It inhales.

And then it smiles. A rip appears on one side, shearing along the outline of the chin until it meets the other end. Then the too-wide maw opens and reveals monstrous teeth, yellowed and pointed, crowding each other like a mutated fish that glows in the deepest seas. A long tongue comes sliding out, so thick and pink with mucus and muscle that it looks like a small snake living independently in his mouth.

It tastes the air before it, grinning wickedly.

"I'm…" I find my voice in the paralyzing fear. Somehow. In the sweat and stink of my absolute terror, I try to find a glimmer of bravery. Anything.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "It must have been crowded in there."

That's all I can coax out.

Faster than a blink, the quivering creature bounds across the white space at me like a cheetah leaping for a kill.

I don't even have time to think of reacting.

It's too fast - too powerful.

A hand - now suddenly sprouting claws from the black fingertips like knives unsheathed - grabs me around the neck, and shoves me against one of the doorframes.

Then it stands, hand still on my neck, pushing against my windpipe and shoving me further up the frame than I can stand. My feet kick beneath me, and I struggle and grab at its sticky skin. "Please!" I gasp, air supply cutting short too quickly.

It's so tall. As tall as the door. Even the shoulders widen, making it less of an alien, more of a brute. A huge, broad shouldered, evil being made of god-knows-what.

"What are you?" I ask. Might as well know what will kill me the second time.

"I?" says a voice from the sickeningly huge mouth, ripping at the seams and breath hot with blood and thirst.

The voice is demonic, deep, three or four men's voices layered on top of each other. "I am not."

"Not what?" I gasp.

"We are Venom," says the voice. Then the tongue slides out again, lashing itself with beading, scorching heat against my cheek, sliding along the side of my face.

It licks me from chin to hair. I squeeze my eyes shut, panic exploding in every pore. I've never felt so - afraid - as violated - as tasted as I do right now -

Then abruptly, the hand drops me.

I fall to the ground with an oomph, barely having a second to scramble back. I retch loudly, taking a huge gulp of air, breathing in screams to replenish what I lost.

"What," I try to say, gasping painfully. I look up. The alien… Venom, I guess… takes a step back with powerful, muscular legs. He looks down at me with a savage disappointment.

"What do you want?" I manage, my throat burning, my lungs working in overdrive.

"Want," repeats Venom, the multilayered voices chanting thickly. "Want!" The massive body shifts and looks at one of the doors, one I haven't explored yet. "Need," it corrects, the voice condescending, so full of hate that I shudder with it. "We need a host, strong and powerful like you," it says, "Your skin would make a nice home for us."

Venom grins down at me, so lustfully and despicably, I have to look away. Tears squeeze out of my eyes and faintly disappear in the mists.

"But we need a live host," it says begrudgingly, and it takes a step - away from me.

I feel a faint hope blossom in a flash of sweat from head to toe. I take the opportunity to push myself to my feet, struggling to lean on the door and regain my bearings. If it DOES intend to hurt me, I won't be caught by surprise again…

But I'm dead, and he… it… they... don't want someone dead.

With six powerful steps, stomps reverberating in a world without sound, Venom walks to the door he zeroed in on. In one swift move, jolting and demonic, he opens the door.

He ignores the bag left behind in the open space.

Clearly unable to sense the infinity stones as I do.

Dr. Strange had a theory that the worlds did not exist unless I was in them…

That I was the common denominator…

This thing is about to go into one of them.

Maybe it'll kill him?

Venom turns one last time and looks at me, a brutal smile on his face, the tongue licking his lipless teeth and all the way down to his chin, and then slurping it back in again.

I am shaking so hard I feel like I'm going to pass out.

"We'll find you again," it promises, and then it passes across the threshold into another universe.

The door begins to close shut behind it.

I can't see what's on the other side.

I don't venture close enough to see, so, so, so afraid one of those inky black tendrils will snake out like a vine, grasp me around the waist, and jerk me inside, where this awful thing can eat me alive…

I stay right where I am.

The door is nearly shut now.

But then I hear something I cannot explain.

A horrible roar from the alien - not a roar of predatory instinct, but a roar of anguish - his own horror - a grasping, slimey, other-worldly scream of defeat. It sounds… smaller.

The sounds of shrinking, plastic, wet blasts of… I couldn't begin to say. I don't know.

And then a hear a small group of human voices gasping in delight.

They chatter amongst themselves… nonplussed, happy, and not threatened at all.

They're speaking in German.

The door shuts with a click.

All the sounds cease.

I take a step towards it and then change my mind. I'm not going anywhere near it but… BUT… I need to mark it. I have to. I can't stumble into it later on accident. All the damn doors look alike.

There goes Strange's theory. Or at least one of them.

I pull the sharpie from my pocket with agonizing slowness.

I take another step for the door. "Get it together, Spider-Man," I chide myself. "Get… it together…"

I walk up to the door.

I uncap the sharpie with a squeak and a pop. My hand is shaking so badly, I use my other hand to grasp my wrist firm, keeping it steady. I write on the door.

NOPE

I recap the sharpie and lean back - no, I stumble back, my heart racing too fast.

I take a few more steps and fall beside the satchel. My head too light, my sweat turning into ice-cold dampness.

Even the danger I still feel, radiating in painful pulses from the infinity stones, feels something like comfort.

…

...

* * *

...

* * *

Coming Next: Peter decides to enlist the help of someone unexpected, whose inherent, perhaps programmed, nobility will help him despite his ulterior motives.

* * *

This book just wouldn't even BE here without my best-beta-besta Crystal, to whom this lil' story is lovingly written as a gift fic!

And I'm sure most of you who read her book "Paint it Black" caught my tribute and reference to it, I just wouldn't be writing it if I hadn't been so inspired by her own series. Her stories are so good they are practically canon to me, but my brain is also making mine canon in my own head, and this is how I wrap my brain around them both lol. Creepy aliens tie them all together!

Please be sure to check out her "Paint It Black" universe here in fanfiction. There's currently three books, the third in progress. First: Paint it Black, Second: Silent Night, Third: Riders in the Sky. Find her stories in my favorites or her penname QueenofCrystallopia in my favorite authors!

And let's just say I've had some sneak peaks into the future of her universe, and she is just SLAYING me with a roller coaster of emotions, I cannot. Even. Handle. It.

* * *

 **PERSONAL REVIEWER REPLIES!**

* * *

AndurilofTolkien: Thanks for the review! There's a lot of infinity drama yet to come!

curry-llama: You were SO on it! You totally guessed it from the beginning. Good job! I applaud you! It's so much fun to have people guessing

ParadoxicOrder8: Again, you totally nailed it! There's a lot of infinity stone drama that will happen because of Peter's interference

TeamCaptain2016: Lol, yeah, "sort of" confessing is Peter's motto! I am SO glad you are enjoying! Much love

cargumentluv: Wow you totally guessed! I'm so proud of you! That's amazing. Also thank you so much for the compliment on Bucky and Stark, it's really hard for me to write Bucky and how others interact with him. He's just such a mystery man to me lol

64Felicity: Thank you so much love! Hope you enjoyed!

EleanorGardner: Oh yes, if you loved QueenofCrystallopia's Paint it Black book, there's a sequel called Silent Night, and a third book in progress called Riders in the Sky (all song titles!) You will LOVE where she is going with this series, its a crazy ride. Thank you so much for your kind compliments as well, they are the lifeblood for this author!

Modern Demigod Hero: Thank you SO much! Hope you enjoyed!

GarnetMonsoon: Thank you so much for your lengthy review, man it made me so so excited to keep writing! Seriously, bless ya! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

NursingStudent: I hope you felt the wishes and hugs from here, haha. Man that job sounds WAY stressful. I hope this chapter brought a small slice of escapism! Thank you for your reviews!


	12. Part IV: Mind - If the Cause is Noble

PART FOUR - MIND

* * *

Chapter Twelve

 _If the Cause is Noble_

* * *

…

...

White.

White.

White.

I toss the empty cube up into the air, catch it, and toss it again.

Bored.

White.

Toss.

Catch.

White…

Toss, catch.

I'm so bored of this white.

I'm bored of pretending in other worlds when there's a real one I should get back to.

There's a Christmas song stuck in my head that I can't place. Just the melody. Sort of a… duh nuh nuh… duh nuh nee nah… in the lane… snow is…

Glistening like this damn white floor.

I let out a loud, frustrated moan, the fog pooling around me like a blanket trying to escape my touch. I try to take a nap for like, three seconds, before sitting back up with a bored huff.

Not working.

Can't just sit here and play catch for eternity.

Can't nap, either.

I figure if days and minutes hold little to no meaning - with a door eagerly ushering me out of timelines and into alternate dimensions as soon as the whim takes me - what's to stop me from accidentally going days or weeks without sleeping or eating?

I couldn't possibly guess how long I'd been dead. I feel like I've lived a lot since then… days, maybe even a week of adventures. Or maybe it's only been about 72 hours. I've totally lost track.

I examine the empty cube that Venom had lived in again, rolling it over in my hand. It doesn't look all that sturdy and I'm a little pissed off at the Xandarians for jettisoning us into space with a murderous alien waiting inside a useless box.

I remember the face of the Nova Prime, that regality she bore, but also that weird, cold guilt. I am certain they knew that Venom would get out somehow. I think they just so desperately didn't want it to be on their planet they were willing to do anything… even trick a couple of first-time tourists with misdemeanors to take it for them.

The Nova Prime probably thought she was making a hard, sacrificial decision - the risk of her own people, or strangers?

As freaked as I am by it, I can almost see her perspective. If I had to choose between protecting the Avengers and tricking a trio of property-damaging travelers into making it all go away, I might have chosen the same…

I tried to sleep earlier, too, after Venom left.

I really did, but I couldn't, not really. My heart was still pounding, my pulse racing, my lungs working in overdrive… all indicative of me feeling and looking quite alive.

Although Venom said he… or, they... needed a live host and ignored ME as a candidate.

He… or it… could tell I was dead. So how could… So how can my heart be pounding, my pulse racing, and my lungs heaving? If I looked alive to a doctor in Xandar, what makes me dead?

I have a theory.

Maybe I'm over complicating it, but it goes like this… maybe I'm dead, but I still exist. Dr. Strange said it himself - the energy can only be rearranged, not destroyed.

So, existentially, philosophically, spiritually… I'm only categorized as dead because my life ceased in my own world. But I still exist, so technically alive, just… elsewhere. So it doesn't count, right?

I rest my forehead in my hands, letting out yet another emotional grumble. I'm also in a dimension in the middle of OTHER dimensions that technically doesn't exist, so, maybe there is no scientific explanation.

Maybe I'm only perceiving myself as having a body with working organs but I'm really just a glowing yellow ball of light flitting about like a Christmas lights display set to change and blink with loud music.

Hark how the bells...

"Stop singing Christmas songs!" I erupt at myself, stuffing the cube back into the knapsack with an exasperated bark. "Now is NOT the time!"

"I assure you, I was not singing," says Dr. Strange's voice.

Oh, look who decided to pay me a VISIT!

I turn around and look at his door, where Dr. Strange leans casually on the frame.

"I don't know," I quip, "That cape of yours has Christmas caroler written all over it."

"Amusing," he responds dryly, shutting the door behind him, noticing my written label.

THE ONE WHERE DR. STRANGE LIVES

Amusement, but also concern, flickers across his face. I notice that Dr. Strange looks… a little different. If I knew any better, I'd say that he's probably been jumping from world to world in his own dimensions, exploring and living... and generally roughing it like me.

His clothes are looking a little shabbier, even worn and torn like he's been in a fight recently. Interesting.

"How are you?" Dr. Strange ignores my jibe. He looks at me, my satchel on the floor, and back at me. "Have you been… taking care of yourself?"

"Taking CARE of myself?" I push myself to my feet and march over to him.

Now that I'm closer, I can see one eye has a shadow a little more rosy-gray than usual. Like he got punched.

"What's that supposed to look like, exactly?" I ask. "Just pick a random door and hope there's three square meals a day? So far I've been tazed, shot at, strangled, arrested, betrayed, suffocated…"

Dr. Strange holds up a hand. "You've been getting too involved."

"TOO involved? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't stay too long in a dimension that isn't yours," he urges. "I could not possibly guess what sort of consequences it might have. What if you spend longer than a week and lose memory of who you are and where you truly come from? What if you no longer find white doors?"

"You've been doing it too," I snap. "Clearly."

"I was not attempting to hide this from you."

"Where exactly have you been?" I ask.

"If you must know, which you do not," Dr. Strange answers evenly. "I simply went back to the Sanctum."

"What's that?" I ask.

"The New York Sanctum," he repeats. "It's… where Wong and I could safely guard relics, not limited to the time stone."

"So you've been going back and chilling in this Sanctum," I say slowly, "I've never heard of this. And I'm a native. Where is it, exactly?"

"I hesitate to say…"

"What? Afraid a dead guy is going to betray your super-secret society to other New Yorkers?" I ask sarcastically. "What if I get stuck in another universe from getting too involved as you put it, and I need your help? How would I find you?"

Dr. Strange gives me a level stare. "Manipulating me into revealing things I ordinarily keep secret does not become you."

I hold out my hands guiltily with a shrug, smiling at him.

"177A Bleecker Street," Dr. Strange sighs. "Only if you need my help."

"Thanks?" I reply. "So what have you been doing exactly?"

"I've been doing my own exploring for the sake of trying to learn about these dimensions as much as I can," Dr. Strange says. "To better help you - the others."

I pause. "You've seen the others?"

Dr. Strange nods, slowly. "Some of them. I have not found all yet. There are many doors."

"Who?"

"A talking tree."

"I saw one of those. And what about Quill?"

"Yes, I've seen him, but he refuses to speak with me. I've had to… leave him alone."

"He punched you, didn't he?" I ask.

"He's… grieving," he says hesitantly. "He's lost someone very dear to him. He may even feel partially responsible for our loss. I wouldn't recommend seeking him out."

I shrug. "Wasn't really planning on it. So far I haven't gone through any doors that weren't mine. If that makes sense."

"Partially. If I may be so honest, the more sense I try to make of these dimensions, the less I can understand of them. I have tried to go to the mirror dimension but my access is barred."

"What the HELL is the mirror dimension?"

Dr. Strange ignores my question. His eyes flick back to the bag. "What is that?"

I look back at it. "Oh, that? Uh… just a souvenir."

"You took a bag from another world?"

I blink just little too long, rolling the lie over my tongue a second more than necessary. I never fail to lie to someone. I'm a horribly dishonest person and I don't understand, for all my good intentions, why I can never seem to tell the truth… even when I try to tell the truth, it turns into a half-assed truth with fictions sprinkled throughout like black pepper.

"Just to try and store some food," I shrug, effortlessly. "Like, I thought if I can bring some things in here, I wouldn't have to go out there so much."

"I understand," Dr. Strange puts a large hand tentatively over one shoulder. "At least if you are… attempting to stick with normal functions, eating, sleeping, et cetera… I'll feel a lot better. Since I cannot stay in your inner-dimension with you. Not for much longer, anyway. I can feel my own tugging away at me now."

"What do you think that is?" I ask. "I am not an expert in quantum physics by any means, but if you think the basic structure of the dimension prevents you from staying contained in another…"

Dr. Strange looks like he's just tasted a cheese he didn't enjoy. "Not that kind of doctor, either. I only have my own theories. I'm afraid I don't have answers for you, unless they're in the metaphysical…"

"Like, magic?"

"Practically. But I really do need to go," Dr. Strange repeats, and he looks as if he has a stomach cramp. He shoves the door open behind him and takes a step backwards, breathing a sigh of relief. "Peter - keep safe, keep vigilant."

"Yeah, yeah… I will… you too."

He starts to shut the door, then pauses. "And Peter?"

"Yes?" I ask impatiently.

He tilts his chin towards the bag on the ground behind me. "If you feel the need to bring souvenirs back, please consider this - some things should not be removed from their universes."

"That didn't stop Thanos from removing us from our universe," I reply bitterly.

"I understand it's difficult - our current reality. Remember to…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I snap, "Trust in the plan. Uh huh. So far so good."

"Maybe you don't trust me," Dr. Strange narrows his eyes. "But you do trust your friend, Tony Stark, don't you? Why don't you try having faith in him?"

I glance at him. "This is like that bad part in every dramatic movie where the doctor says he's done everything he can and the only thing left to do is pray."

"I wouldn't know what they say in bad movies," Dr. Strange sighs patiently. "But I know he certainly believed in you. That's why he relented in letting you come along."

I look sharply at him. Right… believed in me, and failed. "Low blow."

"It's the truth," Dr. Strange becomes stern. "Try not to bring anything else with you. I do not think it is safe. This environment is… volatile. Subject to change."

"Yeah, sure, I won't," I lie.

He gives me a curt nod. "I'll return to check on you again."

"Don't rush," I say brashly. "We're dead!"

Dr. Strange gives me a cryptic look. I can't tell if he's laughing at me because he thinks I'm trying to be funny (I'm not) or if he's worried.

I don't really care.

I'm in a bad mood.

I mean, being dead might be part of it.

Getting licked by a vicious, deadly alien made out of congealing squid ink might be another part of it.

"Bye!" I squeak cheerfully, shutting the door behind Dr. Strange. "Don't interfere with my really stupid archvillain plan," I whisper at the frame, almost hoping he hears me.

Hear me? Stop me?

Or not.

No, I'm going to do something. I can't just play on the holodeck forever. At some point this red shirt needs to get out of the fantasy room and go help Captain Picard save the Enterprise.

I almost expect laughter, but of course, I didn't say it out loud.

There's no one to listen.

Ned would've loved that joke.

I put the satchel over my shoulder and make sure everything is secured and clipped shut. I would hate to lose an infinity stone in another universe where maybe that stone already exists. Like, what if I run into Thanos and he has the purple one already and then I also have a purple one and he combines the two to make some sort of supernova stone and wipes all life from the earth. Including me, again?

Maybe I'm overthinking this - am I overthinking this? I probably am.

I suddenly miss Ned and Aunt May so much - and MJ - it's like a punch to the stomach.

I square up. I ignore the pain. I ignore the pounding of my heart.

I go to another door, unlabeled. I open it and look inside -

A wind that smells like frost and wet stones whistles right through me. I'm looking at a village. A strange village under a winter's chill, with cobblestone streets and people speaking… Russian?

They wear modern clothes, some carrying cell phones. A car crunches over the stone road and turns left, narrowly missing the frame of my white door.

No - they're speaking Sokovian.

I shut the door and uncap my sharpie. SOKOVIA?

I move to the next one and open -

A roar like a thousand lions blasts into my face with hot breath and flecks of yellow saliva. I'm instantly shoving the door back against the snarling mouth bigger than the frame itself. Teeth the size of dinner knives clatter and snap together with wet blasts.

A guttural roar echoes behind the door in a hungry -

SLAM!

I shut the door on it, eyes wide and gasping with surprise.

The door shudders once.

Something huge brushes against the other side and growls deeply in disappointment.

"Nice kitty," I whisper, my hand shaking with the sharpie.

DO NOT DISTURB

The next door reveals nothing but a wide open field. Green grass, tractor-mown recently if I had to guess, stretches endlessly to the horizon in rolling hills, a bright blue sky above it.

There's no sound but the wind brushing through the springtime stalks in a widespread shhh. A shadow passes overhead of a large white cloud too close to the sun.

I shut the door very, very quietly and don't hesitate for a second on this door's title.

WINDOWS XP DESKTOP

The next door opens into the most beautiful sound in the world -

Traffic.

And a bus stop.

Okay. This might - this might…

A concrete jungle!

City life.

But not just any city.

It smells like rain on hot pavement, cigarette smoke, car exhaust, coffee, and various bodily odors.

"HEY!" a man in a hoodie erupts beside me, upset at my sudden arrival. "Watch where you're going, Houdini."

"Sorry!"

"SAYING SORRY doesn't unspill the scalding coffee down my dick nor payout like a McDonalds lawsuit now does it…?"

The rest of his sentence is a delightful string of phrases and words that I quickly tune out, despite the massive smile taking over my face. I apologize again and quickly move out of earshot.

Oh, New York. I've missed you so much.

I couldn't ask for a better homecoming.

I zip up my jacket to hide the suit and step carefully out of the white door and onto the cement of a plaza, instantly jostled by two people rushing to get to the bus doors sliding open as it pulls up to the curb. Overhead, a gray sky hovers serenely. Beyond the stop, there's a few small buildings, stores and an office complex, a few city blocks before a view of… more buildings.

I take a deep breath. I read the destination scrolling by the tiny marquee hung above the windows of the bus. Only a few hours northward, it seems. I was meant to be here. At this time.

This is my bus.

I get on board, and the bus driver looks at me, a hardened expression of life-long alcoholism and nicotine-stained hands on the steering wheel.

"Where's your pass, kid?" he asks.

"Oh, uh," I pat my bag, my pockets. "Um…"

There's nothing in there but Xandarian lint.

"I don't," I falter. "I don't have it."

"Come on," growls the voice behind me, the man who cursed me out earlier jostling me from behind. "I'll get the fare if you get an effing move on and sit down! A plot waits for no holes!"

"Uh, thanks, sir," I reply, moving quickly out of his way and finding an empty spot beside a window.

"Don't thank me," snarls the man from two seats behind me. "Thank the Curtis Brown Agency!"

"Uh, thank you, Curtis," I repeat. I glance behind me again, but the shadows of his hood obscure his facial features, except a wrinkled chin. Maybe I've met him in my real life. On the streets. Maybe someone I've helped? Or even turned into the police?

He sighs deeply. I feel my spider-sense prickle slightly at his irritation, but I am not going to question gifted bus fare. If I had been thinking clearly, I should have just waited for the bus to take off, and then stuck my hands to the back and rode along for free.

But I'm also missing my mask, so, no telling what sort of reaction there would be to me - looking a little homeless in my too-large, black and army green Xandarian pilot's uniform - clinging to the back of a bus careening down the 295 northwest to upstate.

I'm going to just keep playing the "dead" card for the dulled common sense.

I suddenly feel a sharp heat through the bag on my leg. My spider-senses ring, high pitched, once in each ear like a bomb went off nearby but I only get the after-effects. Glancing with worry down at the bag, I hesitate before opening the top - just an inch or two - to peak inside.

The heat continues, like one of those overheating cell phones that got a lot of flack for spontaneously combusting. Only an infinity stone is a little scarier than a phone.

The orb and the cylinder and the empty cube are sitting right inside the bag like they should, but the cylinder glows with a faint red light through the seams. Almost as soon as I look at it with suspicion, the red light fades away as if embarrassed at getting caught.

In a moment, the heat stops, too.

I really, really need help from someone smarter and better than me.

…

When I depart the bus, I catch a glimpse of Curtis flipping me off through the window. I shrug further into my jacket and turn quickly away, descending the steps of the bus stop as quickly as I can. Dr. Strange said to not get too involved. Asking Curtis why he helped me and hated me would be a… distraction. A side quest.

When Ned and I play… or, would play… video games together, which wasn't too often because we were usually studying for decathlon or watching movies instead; Ned would always warn me about wasting my time getting distracted with smaller quests in the games he would introduce me to. There would be a primary directive to follow, sticking with a general plot and solving stuff, but there would be moments where I click on some object that leads me to a subplot and someone to rescue and a tiny mystery to solve and then from there…

Yeah, sidequest.

I ignore the sidequest of the departing bus, struts protesting with high squeaks as it accelerates briefly, pauses with a jolt at oncoming traffic, and then starts again. I walk down into the lower level of a pedestrian tunnel taking me under the freeway and out the other side. On either end, the wide, curving bypasses head for opposite ends of the countryside.

Beyond large copses of full, green oak trees, a sidewalk winds its way parallel to a service road. It looks out of way and no one would really think twice about it, except an avid golfer who mistakes the driveway for an entrance to a country club. I remember Happy mentioning once that he encouraged Mr. Stark to go for the abandoned warehouse look, but the immaculate landscaping sort of worked as a tip off.

I walk down the road to the Avengers facility, glancing over with some curiosity at the car that slows down alongside of me. For a moment I think it will pause, but it doesn't, and the tinted windows prevent me from seeing who is driving. With my luck, I expect the window to roll down and Happy to glare out at me, demanding to know what I'm doing here and why am I dressed like a vagabond.

The black sedan rolls on by instead, disappearing around the curve under the shade of the trees. The license plate says MYS 1364, the Empire State. Nothing unusual or too obvious like SPR VLLN.

The birds sing in the trees, and I hear the distant sound of the mechanical gate sliding open and closed for the visitor in the sedan. After that, silence, and then another bird chirp.

It's really peaceful.

I wonder just how bad things would be if I stayed, against Dr. Strange's wishes. Skipped everything about some so-called plan where Mr. Stark saves us all. What if I just lived here? Or went back to Queens? I could walk in the door of my apartment and say, "Hey Aunt May, I'm home!"

How long would it take before I forget the world I came from?

Dr. Strange can't be right about the white doors disappearing, right? He wouldn't know. Not unless it's happened to him. It's all theory.

Horrible theories.

In a moment, I reach the solid, metal gates myself. There's two small towers on either side, the right side with a gray door, the left side with a glittering white. There are tiny windows in the top, and a keypad in one of the columns.

I tug with apprehension at my bag strap, then walk up to the keypad. There's an intercom in the panel, and a security camera perched above it, pointed right at me.

I reach up and hesitate before punching a button beneath it. There's a crackle as it connects, and a beep.

"Do you have an appointment?" says a man's voice at the intercom.

"Uh - no, no, I don't have an appointment," I yell at the speaker.

"You don't need to yell, kid, we can hear you."

"Uh, sorry!" I shout again, and then realize. "Oh," I say in a normal voice. "Sorry - sorry."

"Call the office and make an appointment."

"Listen, my name is Peter Parker," I say quickly. "I'm an Avenger? I need to get inside. It's kind of urgent."

There's a sharp chuckle. "There's no Avenger named Peter Parker. Nice try. Go home."

Shoot.

Shoot, shoot, shoot!

"Uh…" I gulp. "I'm Spider-Man? Are you sure you don't have an Avenger named Spider-Man?"

There is a significantly long pause.

"Hello?" I ask.

"You want us to believe that you are Spider-Man?" says the voice. "You. A homeless kid. The Spider-Man. Avenger."

I bristle at homeless. Currently, it's absolutely the truth. And they have problem with it?

"Yes, that's me," I reply, as patiently as I can. "If you call Tony Stark, he'll vouch for me. Or… uh… Happy Hogan. Call Happy. Do you have Captain America here? He knows me too."

"Captain America is a fugitive from the government."

"I know that," I lie. Post-Germany, then? If that even happened here? "But…"

"Kid, listen, if we called up Tony Stark every single a time a fan showed up at the gate and pulled the 'he'll vouch for me' card just to get in, we'd be overwhelmed by hoodlums. Go home. Make an appointment like anyone else. We'll hear your complaints at the scheduled time."

"If you don't let me in," I say, "I'll just climb the wall, break into your security office, web you up, and then call Mr. Stark myself!"

"Cute. Why not call Mr. Stark right now if you're so tight with him?"

I hear several chuckles on the other side. I have an audience.

"I don't have a phone. I need to borrow your phone," I reply with a deep sigh. "I'll make the call when you let me in."

"All right, kid, we're losing patience. Get off the property or we'll escort you off."

"There has got to be SOMEONE there to vouch for me!" I slam my palm desperately on the cold gray wall. "Mr. Rhodes? Is he there?"

"No."

I bite my lip and run through a roster in my head. I fought alongside a lot of people at the airport in Germany, but they didn't exactly introduce themselves and shake my hand before we started.

When I helped Mr. Stark fight in New York before we went up in the donut ship with Voldemort, it was just a small group of us. I don't know where people are right now or whose side they are on. Mr. Stark wouldn't exactly explain why or where, but after the prison break out, there were a lot of Avengers that went undercover or took a deal with the FBI.

After that, I didn't hear anything more about them.

And I was sort of busy with my own distractions. Liz, the Vulture, MJ. Ned and I teaming up to defeat the forces of evil… or at least a heist.

Or MAYBE, this universe is as whacked as the one where Black Widow was a Sokovian double agent, Bucky was an IT guy, and Hulk was kidnapped by aliens. So what if nothing happened in Germany at all? What if Captain America is a fugitive because he's a nazi here or something? What IF… what IF IF IF…

"Somebody," I repeat. "Someone there will know me. If Mr. Stark isn't there, ask someone who is. I promise you. It's important. I would rather not fight my way in, okay? I'm tired and I'm low on web fluid AND we're all on the same side!"

Silence.

"I'll punch and climb my way through if I must. But I don't want to. Call someone."

"Stay right there and don't move," responds the voice, sounding frustrated.

The intercom clicks off.

I tap my foot impatiently, before realizing that I must look horribly obnoxious. I know they're watching the security monitor and I should probably be working on making a good impression, not the opposite.

I don't want to punch my way into the Avengers facility in a universe where I don't necessarily know friend from foe. Name dropping Mr. Stark and Rhodes seemed like a safe enough thing to do, but what if I stumbled into a reality where they are the bad guys and I'm the good guy on the run?

I step back and hug my arms, kicking a pinecone off the asphalt and into the grass where it belongs. Shuffling back and forth, I glance down the driveway again, then back at the gate.

There's a sudden shudder in the air, as if someone had a very large cell phone on vibrate and tucked it between the atoms that make up the oxygen around me.

"WHOA!" I shriek with surprise, stepping back as Vision, the Stark-invented, mind-stone infused android-turn-synthezoid suddenly emerges out of the gate, phasing like a ghost right through the solid metal.

"Holy shit!" I exclaim. "I for… I see… I don't think I've ever seen… wow." I shake myself out of the racing heart and jaw-dropping. "You're - you uh - you didn't do much of that in Germ - I mean, when I last saw you."

"I am afraid I have never officially had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Peter Parker," replies Vision smoothly. His voice sounds very real, but also metallic, like two voices - a human and a robot - layered on top of each other with audio software.

His very human-looking eyes are deeply penetrating, his gaze concerned. I see that he is looking - well, as normal as Vision can look I guess - a magenta and green lined suit, a yellow cape... In all of my geeking out over Avengers related stuff, I've learned about the suit being made partially of living tissue and vibranium, and how the stone gives him life.

He's not just an artificial intelligence… or at all. Intelligent and real. A mind, will, and even a soul of his own. It's like every inventor's dream AND nightmare rolled into one.

Of course, in the center of his forehead, an infinity stone glows bright, sunflower yellow.

"Nice - nice to meet you," I say, sticking out my hand automatically.

Vision looks down at my hand, and with a touched expression, shakes it as if he never expected to be offered a hand in the first place. "Welcome," he says. "My apologies - I could not help but overhear that there was some miscommunication about your identity." He looks up towards the security camera. "I trust this lessens the complications?"

There's no response from the intercoms, but the gate unlocks with a brassy click, and the large metal walls begin to slide apart slowly, revealing the compound beyond. We step through, and the gates begin to groan shut behind us.

"The timing is unfortunate," Vision says, giving me a friendly smile. "I regret your friend Tony Stark is away at the moment. But as you are an Avenger, you are welcome to stay here in your assigned quarters for as long as necessary to await his return."

"Actually…" I say, the realization dawning on me. I knew I needed to see Vision eventually, and while I thought I would have to go through other people to track him down, this… skipping everyone else… it would probably be better. Way better. I can convince Vision to help. I know I can. But Mr. Stark? Probably not. I've tried to tell them about Thanos in two different universes now and just lied more, maybe even made the situations worse.

What makes me think I can get away with it, even partially, a third time? He's not one to suspend his disbelief easily.

"Actually," I repeat, louder, when Vision gives me a look of curiosity "I wanted to talk to you. I need your help with something. And you're the only one I can turn to."

Vision does not pepper me with questions. Instead, he seems to accept my plea with a solemn nod. "Come," he says, moving forward smoothly down the driveway. As he pulls ahead, I realize he isn't walking at all, he's floating six inches off the ground, toes relaxed and nearly dragging. "You seem like you could do with a cup of tea," he says.

I had been told about this live-being modeling itself out of the AI that merged with the living stone. I wonder just how much of it is supposed to sound like a British butler? I thought Jarvis was just Mr. Stark's old AI that gave Vision his voice, but I never got a chance to hear it. By the time I met Mr. Stark, his AI's name was Friday.

"Yeah, um..." I reply, sort of relieved. "Tea sounds good." Tea was just a magical thing that Aunt May would make me if I had a cold. It wasn't something we drank socially. But what's a new universe for if not to adapt?

The long driveway heads to the smaller storage building to the right, the large parking garages underground, the helipads, parking lot, the large hangar, and of course the main building with the really tall, glamorous windows.

"Tell me," Vision asks, "What brings you to the compound on a school day?"

"It's a school day?" I ask. It was the last thing I was worried about.

"Wednesday," Vision responds, and he glances at me, his expression kind. "I would expect whatever is upsetting you would be enough to distract you from school attendance."

My voice is chipper, my smile fake. "I didn't say I was upset!"

"The urgency at which you beg at our gates without a mobile phone nor clothes in your size begs to differ," Vision replies easily. "And in what scenario would you seek my help instead of someone who, say, has been a consistent mentor to you, such as Dr. Banner, or Tony Stark? I have seen you seek the counsel of Scott Lang at times before resorting to me."

I feel bad for a previous incarnation of me clearly underestimating how much Vision wants to help people. It even sounds as if I've hurt his feelings in this past. Maybe this universe's version of me has something against androids-turn-living-people. I can't imagine a me that would do that.

"I can't really say what sort of dumb stuff I've done before," I say slowly, carefully, "But I can tell you the dumb thing I need help with right now is only something you can help me with."

A look of recognition passes over Vision's face. "Because I am the bearer of the mind stone," he says resignedly. "I alone have the unique privilege of carrying what many envy." He gives me an unreadable look, his eyes glancing with concern, again, at the discarded uniform I am wearing, the bag over my shoulder. "Tell me - what manner of problem could you have that requires only the assistance of a person possessing an infinity stone?"

We get to the edge of the first parking area. If we go right we go closer to the garages, straight on would go to the main center of the compound.

"The sort of problem where I'm also carrying an infinity stone?" I say meekly, breaking the news as gently as I can imagine. I'll tell him I actually have two of them later. Or I won't.

Nothing ever seems to surprise Vision, and yet here he is, looking as shocked as I could possibly imagine.

"You carry an infinity stone?" He asks, turning and facing me fully. He looks down at my bag, his striking eyes widening with something like fear and anger at the same time. "That is what I sense from you," he says slowly, "The power. I knew there was something - unlike you. I thought it was because of your age..." He shakes his head, putting conjecture aside. He places his hands on my shoulders and squeezes them both. "How came you by this? Answer honestly. Leave out nothing."

"I died in another universe and got stuck in a pseudo-dimension-afterlife and came to a different parallel universe and stole them so that I could try and get back to my life?" I blurt out in one, long, unfortunate sentence. Sans breathing or much coherency.

There is a silence between us. Vision's expression does not falter in its poignant demand for absolute honesty.

"Them?" he repeats.

"Oh shit," I reply.

"Shit may be an accurate assessment," Vision answers. "You said you stole them."

"Heh heh," I let out a super fake laugh. "No…?"

"You have more than one," he infers.

I give up the facade instantly. "The purple one and the red one I think," I whisper, ashamed, beginning to unzip my bag. "I didn't remove them from their containers so I can't be sure."

"Have you come to take mine?" Vision asks sadly, dropping his hands from my shoulders.

"What?" I gasp, looking up. "No! No? Not at all! It didn't even occur to me!"

He looks as if I just offered to stab him in the back but promise to use anesthesia first.

"Seriously - mister - Vision, sir, I swear to you," I ramble, "That is NOT why I am here. I need your help because of you - you know, your cool phasing power thing, like ghosting through walls and stuff, because you're an Avenger, because you're on my side… because you know about having an infinity stone, not because I need the thing in your head."

There was a part of me that thought I should collect all the stones, but I did not - for one second - think of fighting Vision or hurting him and taking his stone from him. If anything, I'd just ask him to tag along. But I hadn't even gotten that far yet. I imagined the stones in a imaginary sense, on a mental checklist that I needed to review. If it came down to it, I would choose nothing. I wouldn't hurt him. Ever.

Vision doesn't look like he believes me.

"I swear to you, I swear by… by… uh… Thor's hammer!" I exclaim.

This may crack the code. Vision's hard expression relents, and he gestures sweepingly to a long, recently-paved drive turning away from the lot and running down to the garage. It goes partially underground, and from the outside, it just looks like a smooth, glass bunker with slanted windows.

"Let's not go inside just yet," he says. "Walk with me."

I follow his serenely floating figure off the driveway and alongside the windows. He slides by silently, his reflection in the windows growing larger and smaller depending on the angle of the windows. It's fascinating, really. He's flying like it's no big deal. It ISN'T a big deal to him.

There's a small bench alongside the path, and he gestures to it. "Sit," he commands. "Tell me what's happened. A bit slower this time, if you can."

"The short version," I say hesitantly, sitting on the bench and holding the bag in my lap protectively. "So we're all fighting this bad guy named Thanos. Thanos has all the stones, or some of them, anyway, I don't know if he got the rest of them… in this gauntlet, basically a glove, and he got away when we gave him the green stone from Dr. Strange… I'm sorry, this is confusing, are you getting this at all?"

Vision seems to consider his words carefully each and every time he speaks. "I am - I am grasping, I think, your dilemma. The order in which you tell it is difficult. I shall save my questions for the end." He lowers himself beside me on the bench. "Please, continue."

"So it HAD to have been the green stone's fault, or something, because once Thanos had it and left… everyone started turning into dust."

Mr. Stark, I don't feel so good.

You're all right, he had said. You're all right.

I pause, feeling the top of my head grow suddenly warm, my stomach turning over into a tight knot. Don't think about it, I remind myself. It's done. It's over. You already died.

"So," I swallow the threat of nausea. "A bunch of us died! Literally died. Turned to ash. Poof," I add, as a very bad, bad joke.

"Us?" Vision says.

"Me and a bunch of other people helping us fight," I shrug. "Like this girl with antennae. And Dr. Strange. Quill. The really big UFC looking guy."

"The dramatis personae of this alternative universe you come from is different than my own, I'm afraid," Vision says.

I have no idea what that means. "Okay."

"In the reality from which you come from you are - dead," clarifies Vision, "You are amongst other people - the players - that I do not know."

"Yeah." I pause. "I don't know if you made it. Or the others. I was off planet when it happened."

Vision holds up a hand. "I do not need to know my fate in another world. I am content to live my own, however short - or long - it may be." He folds his hands deftly like a patient teacher talking me through a math problem. "And how did you come to find yourself here?"

"So I woke up in this like… afterlife. I guess. A dimension. Between dimensions. There's a bunch of doors everywhere and each door leads to a different reality. Or some of the doors lead to other in-between dimensions where the other people that died, like me, are sitting in their own afterlife." I pause. It sounds dumb to say it out loud. "I thought I was alone and trapped there until I found Dr. Strange accidentally - er, he found me, I guess. He said I shouldn't take objects from the other realities." I think about Venom and shiver. "But I'm not a very good listener."

I pull out the cylinder and the orb from my bag and hand them to Vision.

"These came from a different reality than the one we're in right now," I say. "There's no explanation as to why I am able to bring them here at all. Dr. Strange said something that stuck with me."

"This Dr. Strange… he is your friend?"

"I mean - I guess? More so now that we're both dead? I don't really know him. I just met him. Thanos's cronies took him into their ship and Mr. Stark and I went to rescue him. He's the keeper of the time stone. Or was, in New York. That's kind of all I know."

"And what did the Doctor say?"

"Something about these universes existing because I'm the common denominator. I think that's true, to the extent. I think I'm permitted to have more than one X factor. Like this bag, jacket, even infinity stones. And I don't think the universe stops when I leave. But I can't be sure because I'm not there."

"So you come and go between universes?" Vision asks.

"Yes - yes sir. I guess I do. For now. I pop in and out of these big white doors that sort of magically appear everywhere. There's probably one over in the side of the garage now, a big door waiting to rip me back to the afterlife dimension and remind me I'm dead."

"Death stalks every man," Vision says, more to himself than me. He turns them over in his hands, holding the orb and the cylinder gently in each palm, lifting them to eye level and gazing at them deeply.

"You did not open these?" he asks. Wow, he really takes the death thing in stride and gets right to the point. I guess when you're given life by a mind stone, a strike of lightning, and a synthezoid material based on an AI named Jarvis and a genocidal robot named Ultron, you learn to be chill with weird news.

"No," I answer.

"Good, it would certainly prove a second death for you, and one far worse, I'm afraid," Vision hands the orb to me first. "This is Power, the purple stone. It is an energy force of destructive power, it grants the users the ability to harness this energy as a weapon and unleash at will. It can destroy entire planets if channeled correctly. It is too strong for any one person to handle."

"Oh," I say in a small voice. "Like the Death Star."

"A star of death is a comparable metaphor," Vision nods. He hands me the cylinder next. "This is Aether, or Reality, the red stone. It is a symbiotic force. Within its grasp one can manipulate reality as they see fit, not limited to mind control and super strength. Projecting images beyond our wildest imagination to create an entire new world that only you are aware of."

I put them in my bag and cinch it up quickly. "Shit," I whisper.

"These stones you have taken," Vision hesitates, "You may have very well of thrown those worlds completely out of balance. Changed the course or fate of millions in alternate dimensions. Surely," he gives me a break from his intense gaze and looks out over the lawn between us and the trees that conceal the gate. "Your purpose in bringing them here could only mean you believed it was the only possible way to save your friend's lives."

"Yeah, if there's a way to learn about them here, maybe we can destroy them for good there," I say. "That's a good guess."

"I've been told I'm astute," Vision smiles at me and stands up from the bench, and within a second, his feet lift slightly off the ground, an inch or two between his toes and the path. "I would like to help you in any way that I can," he says, "But on one condition."

I scramble to my feet, just shy of saluting with gratitude. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Sure. Anything. What's the condition?"

"I help you, but then you must leave," Vision's magenta brow furrows grimly. "You will take what you have, and you will return to your dimension. I will not want your cause, whether it is foolish or brave - nor the remnants of your reality's war - following us here. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, yeah, absolutely," I promise. "It's a fair deal."

"I will encourage you to leave when I feel your presence may… disrupt… the universe in which we live," Vision says.

"Okay, yeah, sure," I say, a little too excitedly. "Anything you say. Thanks. I mean, really, thank you. Vision. It just - it feels so weird! Finally telling someone. Everything."

"You did not share this with anyone else? In any other reality?"

"Not all of it. Only what I thought the person could believe."

"Half-truths make for a lonely life," Vision beckons me to follow him back down the path.

"Death is lonely too," I respond sadly.

"I am sorry," Vision says with absolute sincerity. I didn't really expect him to have this much kindness or empathy, but, here it is. I realize I'm craving it like a little kid desperate for praise and comfort after doing an idiotic stunt and scraping up his knee as a result.

"You have gone through what no child should ever deal with, at such a young age," he continues. "I will help you make it right, if I can."

"I didn't actually expect you to believe me," I admit. "So… thank you. Really."

"It is not as hard as you would expect," Vision looks as if he as an inner debate with himself, however brief. "You are about three or four years older than the Peter Parker I saw walk by with Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark last week."

"You saw me last week?" I squeak. "Wait, a younger me? Like I'm in a different… time… and there's a me… oh, jeeze," I feel all the blood rush drastically from my head. "Oh… boy. That's weird. That's really weird."

"Like I said, never had the pleasure of meeting you officially. Only passing by. You are an exact image of the Peter Parker that visits our science lab here on occasion, and works closely with Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts in New York at the Avengers Tower. But older."

"There's still a tower here?"

"Yes, we have several bases of operation."

We reach the driveway again.

"Are we going to run into a younger version of myself?" I squeak, darting a glance at the main compound nervously.

"Our reality's version of Peter Parker went home yesterday. For all the guards know, he's just an intern. I'm afraid you've outed our Spider-Man's identity. We'll need to offer them a higher salary for their silence, I imagine."

I blink. "Oh, shoot, I'm really sorry, I didn't know. I had NO idea."

"It's not your fault. I'll explain what occurred after you leave." Vision stretches his neck slightly from side to side, as if preparing for a difficult conversation or fight. "Now - the time comes for a concrete plan. I said I would help you. Now you must have some idea of what you need help with."

"I think," I say nervously. "I think I need the time stone. I could never take Dr. Strange on my own. I think with your help, though, I think we could safely take the time stone from him - without hurting him," I add hastily. "I just need to borrow it. If I can find my way to my own reality and go back in time to before I die and give Dr. Strange his own stone back, it's not really a bad thing, right?"

"You tell me," Vision says gently. "You are speaking of stealing from one Dr. Strange to give to another."

"It's the only way I can think of to save everyone," I say desperately. "I think I could find the reality I died in if I looked long and hard enough and didn't give up. There's millions of doors. One of them has to be the world I came from. If I can go back - then… then… then I FIX it!"

I actually start to get a little excited as the plan takes shape. "Thanos won when Dr. Strange gave him the time stone. Then Thanos went through a portal and after a minute we all started disintegrating. Maybe we were being erased out of time like Marty McFly! It all comes down to that. If I give a stone - any time stone - back to Strange in that moment, I bet he can reverse whatever Thanos did."

"And you believe this endeavor will justify the cost to get there?" Vision asks calmly. "If you truly do… then I'm with you."

"It has to," I say hoarsely. "I can't leave them. I can't let it go. We have to save them."

"Then save them we will." Vision looks at my disheveled appearance, and looks back at the large hangar where quinjets await. "How did you plan on getting back to New York City to confront the Doctor?"

"I don't know how to fly a quinjet," I confess. "I hadn't planned that far ahead."

"With your permission, I will fly us there," Vision answers. "It may not be faster but I would like to retain my friendships after you go. I do not have the privilege of a pilot's license. Stealing a quinjet from this heavily guarded Avengers compound is not something I'd like to attempt."

"Uh - yeah. No. I get that. Totally. Okay. How do we….?"

Vision shrugs. "You can hang about my shoulders. Would that suffice?"

I snicker. "Piggy back."

He smiles at me. "If you say so," he bends down slightly, and grounds himself, so that I can loop my arms around his neck. "Hang on tightly, please," he says. "I will fly as fast as I can and go where you direct me."

"We might have to stop and ask for directions for Bleecker street," I confess.

"Are you secure?"

"Ready!"

Vision lifts off the ground. I clutch a little tighter and bite back a yelp of surprise.

"Do heights bother you?" he asks.

"No, nope, nope," I shriek. The ground falls away from us like a blanket of green dropping from our feet. My stomach launches itself into my throat and I blink ice-cold tears away from the zinging wind whistling past us. "I'm used to heights! But usually I have web attached to something!"

Vision slows and loops his arms around my feet at his sides so that they don't dangle. We hover for a moment in mid air, the compound spread out below us like a kid's play carpet with lego squares set up to represent buildings.

A thick cloud edges between us and the view, gray and throbbing with threatening rain. The air is chilly and damp.

"Oh this is, this is," I say, feeling a little faint. "This is the highest I've been since… since…"

I try not to think about going up into space on the donut ship and starting to suffocate. When the horizon started to fade from bright blue to darkness… the glimmer of stars… and I couldn't breathe. But then the Iron Spider suit shot out of the sky...

"You can close your eyes if you want," Vision suggests kindly.

"I'm fine!" I exclaim, screwing my eyes shut as tight as I can.

Suddenly the wind whooshes against us again, but I don't see it. I only hear the jetstream of it, shot with ice crystals and my Spider-senses tingling ever-so-slightly at the proximity to a storm somewhere a few miles away.

Soon we're both damp from the moisture in the clouds - and while Vision isn't necessarily a speedy flyer, like Iron-Man with his rockets in full thrust, we get there faster than I thought we would. I open my eyes every so often to try and get used to the height, spotting a side-winding ribbon of creeks and rivers, giving back to the interchanging freeways and concrete jungles. Eventually we're passing between buildings, and New York's boundaries push into the suburbs, gaining strength with structures growing taller.

Eventually, the skyscrapers are higher than us, and we're touching down in a cramped fire escape alleyway behind the buildings of Bleecker Street on a first-floor roof. There's something weird - or shall I say, STRANGE, ha ha - about the road. Almost as if it only was easy to find because we knew it existed and looked for it.

I imagine, sort of like Sirius's apartment in that Harry Potter movie… it just sort of appears if you know where to look. If you don't, you'd probably walk around this block six times and never see it. This alleyway specifically doesn't even have an entrance on the ground, so there's no way to creep up on the sanctum from behind unless you fly in from above like us. Foot traffic strolling by on the parallel roads, Sullivan street and Macdougal street, don't see us disappear in the thin sliver of daylight between the rooftops.

Such is the way of Dr. Strange's mystical palace crammed, even with a cool glass dome-thing, in the middle of the brownstones and shops. Tiny general stores with bars on the windows and signs for sandwiches out front beneath neon lights, and above, cramped apartments. And stuck in between them, a huge building that looks like a museum.

"Do you have a plan for approaching the esteemed Doctor?" Vision asks, letting me slowly onto the roof.

I step crookedly away from him, stretching my legs and flexing my arms. It feels so good to stand on something solid, even if it is in a deeply claustrophobic alley lined with brick.

"Uhhhhh…" I reply.

"If secrecy is a priority," Vision approaches the head of the space carefully and looks down at the sidewalk below on Sullivan, then examines the walls of the building beside us. "Perhaps you should go in first. I will follow when appropriate through the walls. It's best if I do not use the street."

"Okay, yeah, yeah that sounds good. I'll go first and talk to him to start with, see if I can convince him, and you'll follow… when?"

"When you need me."

"How will you know?"

"I'll be listening closely."

"Like - IN the wall? Are you only phasing part way through so you can eavesdrop?" I bounce up and down on the soles of my feet slightly, eager to begin. "That's like - like - the coolest thing I've ever heard of!"

Vision looks flummoxed by my fanboy reaction, and then relaxes. "You did say you were from a different time, another universe. This Peter Parker's appreciation of my powers are - refreshing."

"Is my other self here really that bad?" I ask.

"Bad? No, bad, not at all. Merely absent. We do not walk the same circles, he and I, save whatever chance we interact at the compound, but those are few and far between. This is the most I've spoken to young Parker since I was brought to life by Ultron and the Avengers."

"Sorry we don't hang out," I reply. "I'm sure we'd be friends. At least we're friends now, right?"

"Friends? Yes, indeed." Vision smiles with surprise.

"Yeah," I give him a shy nod and turn back to the alley entrance. "I'm going in. Wish me luck."

"Good luck, Mr. Parker."

…

…

I put one hand on the wall, followed by another, then another. It's nice to be climbing by my own strength, my own powers again. Elbows and knees scuffing the brick, I go hand over hand, passing windows and floors till I'm over the third. Hopping the edge, I stand in the roof and gain my bearings. I won't have to break in through the front door or window, I can just go right in through the green hued, pyramid-shaped skylight.

I slip out of the saggy pants of the borrowed (okay, stolen) Xandarian uniform and shrug out of the jacket, lying them on the rooftop beside me. Just me and the ol' red and blue once more. It's significantly more comfortable without all the extra layers.

I dash over to the skylight and squeeze one of the hinges, bending it out of use and twisting the old, rusted metal right off. I flip open the pane and slowly let it down so it doesn't shatter.

Bracing one hand on either side of the frame, I drop my feet down inside, and let go.

It's a short fall to a floor of dark cherry wood, polished and antique. I land with a barely discernible thump in a crouch, taking stock of my surroundings.

I feel like I just landed in the panorama displays of the Museum of Natural History. Everywhere around me, there are clear glass cases containing incredible relics that I couldn't possibly imagine - tools, weapons, even things to wear, like armor and ancient uniforms.

I instantly stand with a look of awe. There's so many of them, sprinkled throughout the room beneath a low ceiling, lit by warm, golden hues from the sun slanting in sideways from circular windows. Ahead, there's a few openings in the walls leading into different hallways (no doors, interdimensional or otherwise), and further across the large room, there's a dark bannister indicating the head of a large stairwell.

"Whoa," I whisper, slipping the bag off my shoulder. I glance into one of the display cases closest to me, where there is a large outfit on a small human sculpture. It looks sort of like a set of armor that a samurai might wear, a lot of metal layers, mostly triangle, and a pointed helmet on top. There's a lot of intricacies to the design, tiny bolts and carvings on every corner.

I press the glass near the seam till the tiny brass hook gives, and with a quiet pop, like a cork from a wine bottle, the glass door pops open. I slowly set my bag inside, hanging it over the sculpture's arm as if it was supposed to be holding a Xandarian satchel in the first place.

Then I slowly close the case again. It should be safe in there. If you can't trust some sort of magical suit of armor to hold a few infinity stones in a magical home for a magical doctor, who can you trust?

I start to walk towards the top of the dark staircase, but there's a shadowed figure rising beyond the stairwell, hair combed neatly, a grim frown behind the goatee, and a red cape snapping like a flag behind him.

Dr. Strange levitates out from behind the bannister like a puppet rising on strings past a staged foreground, giving me a glare of stern disappointment.

"Peter," he says. "What are you doing here?"

There is a snap of electricity at his fingertips, three or four golden sparks threatening to become so much more.

"Just thought I'd break in and say hi," I reply easily, standing perfectly still, my fingers slowly folding into a position with which to use my web shooters quickly and indiscinerably.

"I know why you're here," Dr. Strange replies, and his eyes drift past me to look over my shoulder. They zero in right on the satchel in the glass case.

"Uh oh," I chirp, when suddenly the sparks at his fingertips become a long string of yellow lightning, shooting past me like the coils of a taser. His arms flip into a defensive stance, and my body mirrors his, bracing my feet against the hardwood floor and shooting my web in the direction of the glass case.

Even with his magic, my spider-sense and my proximity gave me a millisecond on top of him. My web streaks past his magic, beating him to the case, plunging right through the glass case with a explosive shatter. Twinkling glass shards fly every which way - my web clings to the satchel, his magic barrels past and knocks the entire suit of armor back off the sculpture. It crashes backwards onto the floor with a horrific cacophony.

I yank the satchel back into my hand and spontaneously duck, feeling another ZING of yellow magic exploding over my head. Dr. Strange retracts the yellow whip, same as my web, but seems to gather it into two identical shields, one for each hand, forming golden circles twisting in a sort of pentagram.

"So much for TALKING first!" I exclaim, standing back up.

"I think we can skip the part where you spin your lies and try to convince me to do something incredibly stupid and then call your friend Vision in to do the rest," Dr. Strange barks back. "I've been through this scenario three times already."

I blink. "So you've lost three times and you keep going back to try again?"

He shakes his head. "I don't have time to explain it all to you."

I burst into laughter. "You literally have a time stone."

"I intend to keep it that way."

"Yeah - well - I have a Vision," I stutter. I didn't expect this reaction. "And he can phase through anything. Including your… your face."

"I've had a long, long chat with Vision in the alleyway," Dr. Strange says, a ghost of a smile on his pleased-with-himself face. "He will not be helping you. He will, however, give you a ride back to the Avengers facility when you and I are through fighting for that bag."

I clutch the satchel closer to my side. "Sorry about your costume, but this is my bag. No. Touchy."

Dr. Strange holds out a hand. "Peter. Give me the stones. You're too young to be playing with these powers that you do not understand."

I sigh. "Okay, fine." I hug the satchel close to my chest and take a step closer to him.

"You're a good kid," Dr. Strange says, softening. "Just hand the bag over."

I take another step closer, and I think he realizes I'm playing him a half-second sooner than I wanted him to. "Just kidding," I squeak, popping my hand out from behind the bag and setting off a wad of web right for his face. He jolts his head to the side to get out of the way, and I loop the bag around my shoulders again. It won't be easy to fight with this on, but it will have to do.

A burst of yellow light suddenly encircles me like a spinning wheel of fireworks, and I'm suddenly face down on a Persian rug, landing with an oomph as if I just fell down a flight of stairs.

I look up, spitting and scrambling to my feet.

I did, apparently. I'm downstairs in the sanctum. "Well shit," I exclaim, sensing another circle suddenly bursting open behind me. I leap straight up into the air, grasping my ankles for a brief moment, flipping through the air and avoiding the circle that passes beneath me. I catch a glimpse of a field of daisies and sunshine through the circle, as if Dr. Strange intended on sending me to a nice countryside in the middle of nowhere. I land behind it in a defensive crouch, safely on the Persian rug, slightly off balance due to the damn satchel.

I send a stream of web blindly in either direction, shattering some heavy, ancient crockery to the right, bursting through an open door and sticking to a wall on the left. I use the two strings like a sideways bungee cord, giving them each a tug so that they pull taut, and then launch me backwards into the shadowy corner where Dr. Strange is now hiding and conducting his freaky little portal-magic.

"I've had enough of portals, thank you!" I say as I body-slam him completely -

Only it isn't him. Too late, I plunge right through his body with a cold gasp, and his image flickers and then disappears. Cool. An out of body experience. I've had enough of those, too.

I turn around just in time to duck from a golden disc appearing from both fists, quite real and quite close. I slam myself upwards, small enough to avoid the discs right in my face and push back against his chest, catching him off guard and shoving him backwards towards the bottom of the stairwell. He steps back on the rug -

I duck down, grab the edge of the rug, and yank it out from under him. His eyes widen slightly, but a gold circle appears behind him and he falls backwards right through it. My spidey-sense clatters behind me, and the light direction changes. I throw myself out of his grasp, where he appeared in another portal directly behind me, making a hasty grab for the bag.

I swing to the side and nearly fall, slipping on the old floor and ducking around the corner into an old fashioned-looking parlor. There's a fireplace and armchairs and a table laden with books about history and magic.

"Honestly," I say, "I'd love to," (jumping over the table) "Stay and drink tea," (ducking to avoid a gleaming disc thrown like a frisbee at the back of my head) "But I'm on a MISSION!"

"Just stop and listen for a moment," Dr. Strange calls tiredly after me. "We've been through this numerously and you make the same damn joke every time."

"Maybe you'll laugh if you hear it enough," I respond, feeling sort of creepy that this feels like the first time for me, but Dr. Strange says it's already happened. I don't like that lack of control. I don't like it at all!

Maybe he's even just lying to make me give up.

I crash over a small end table, destroying a lamp and flinging myself through another door into a kitchen -

Living room -

Upstairs, glass cases -

The roof -

A basement -

The foyer, again, the rug, again,

Flickering in and out like I'm trapped inside a projector, the images flying by, clicking

In and out and in and out - ROOM, WALL, RUG, WINDOW, ROOM -

(vomiting)

Upstairs.

Stairs.

Basement.

Hallway.

Kitchen.

The roof?

(vomiting again)

Parlor.

The table and lamp I just tripped over are upright, and untouched.

I'm so dizzy I topple over onto the floor with a solid thump. "Wha … the hell…" I gasp, the room rocking around me like it was built on a dock stretching into the ocean at high tide.

Dr. Strange flips his cape behind him, sitting calmly on the couch in front of me. "Thor could barely handle it either, if it makes you feel any better," he says, flippantly.

"It doesn't," I bleat, shutting my eyes against the whirling walls and pressing my hands to my forehead. "UGH," I groan, struggling to my hands and knees.

"Don't bother getting up, I'll be taking that bag now."

I look over at his boots, suddenly at my face, and no longer by the sofa.

"Take it off me, PoTTAH!" I exclaim in the best Malfoy voice I can possibly muster. I swing my legs around me, colliding hard against his calves and putting him off balance. In the half second it takes from him to (almost) stumble, I shoot web across the room, through the open door, past the foyer, and into the other room on the opposite side. I hit retract, and with a sing-song ZING, I'm ripped past his boots and sliding across the floor, hitting the Persian rug with a thump, and bouncing over it and into the other room.

I hear the flicker and flap of the cape just behind me -

I flip onto my feet and catch a faceful of yellow disc. It feels like getting slapped with the hot rack from a toaster oven and a crinkle of cellophane around it. "AGH!" I shout, falling backwards onto my ass onto the hearth of another fireplace. My lip stings with a cut.

"I don't want to hurt you," Dr. Strange says exasperatingly. "If I knew you'd react in any other way I would not have to keep fighting you!" He holds out his hand again, and I scramble back, my heels and hands skidding in old ash. "Give it to me. Now."

I look down at the ash, it flutters in any semblance of air movement. The flecks drift out onto the carpet, and suddenly, my eyes are swimming.

"I know what you must be feeling," Dr. Strange suddenly goes into bedside manner. "How unfair this is. How could it have come to this. I know what it means…"

"You don't get it at ALL," I growl, backing up further into the large fireplace, inching my fingers towards the web's trigger. "You've got it MUCH better off than the other Dr. Strange. The REAL Dr. Strange. The dead one!"

His eyes suddenly widen. "Wait, Peter, you're - you're confused, you think…"

I hit the button and hear the web disappear up the chimney, connecting to the mortar crown three stories up. I hit retract again and get yanked dramatically up into chimney at top speed, feet dangling from the hearth and disappearing like a fleeing Santa. My body follows my web through a slit opening in the damper, which of course I shatter into giant pieces of gray glass and brass pieces, which go plummeting to the ground floor below. I bounce off the dark, gritty brick, stopping the retraction and bracing myself on either side of the wall with my knees. Making a fist, I punch at the brick. There is a crack and splintering of the terracotta, and a painful shuddering through my knuckles and into my arm and elbow. I punch again, and again, letting out a hoarse shout and bloodying my fist against the side of the chimney.

Over, and over, till the bricks crumble and fall below me, bouncing off the sides and adding their damage to the shattered pieces below. I plunge my fist in one last time, meeting insulation and wood instead of brick, and pull out handfuls of the pink fluff like cotton candy. Then one final punch of drywall and I'm through, hand meeting air on the other side. I brace one foot in each corner, my back against the bricks behind me, and use both hands to pull apart pieces of wall and the searing, ripping wallpaper beyond it. I get the opening large enough to fit my head through, looking into a room that looks like a library. It's so dim I can barely make anything out except rows and rows of bookshelves, holding dusty volumes and scrolls.

I plunge my hands in and out once more, grabbing handfulls of wood and plaster and wallpaper and shoving them out, breaking and splintering until the opening is big enough for me to shoulder my way through, scrambling clumsily out and falling towards the floor, realizing only too late the gold circle erupting in my line of sight -

I fall onto snow with a soft crunch.

"Jesus!" I launch to my feet and look around.

This is... new.

Mountains of snow and ice surround me like the pass of Caradhras, rocks entrenched deep into drifts, a howling wind pushing at me close to a cliff's edge, and a sunset glimmering in rose-pink between two intimidating peaks at the horizon.

Something opens and closes behind me with a breath of dusty, bookish air and Dr. Strange stands in the snow beside me.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he asks casually. His cape thwips behind him in the wind.

I glance at him. "Are we in New Zealand?"

"Good guess. How did you know?"

"I've watched the Lord of the Rings, you know," I say, formulating a plan - maybe a dumb one - in my head. If I act like I've given up and play it up too much, he'll expect me to attack again. But if I act like I haven't given up yet and I only need a break… maybe I can catch him off his guard. I look down at my hands and suit, literally covered in dark gray soot.

Ash flickers and falls from my hand.

Oh, shit.

I bend over and rest my palms on my knees, breathing heavily. "Ugh," I groan.

"It's the altitude," Dr. Strange explains dryly.

"It's… really not," I cough, feeling sort of dizzy. Okay, maybe partially. "I'm not giving up," I say hoarsely. "I just need… a breather."

"I can take the bag from you right now, let you pass out on the snow," Dr. Strange says out loud. But he doesn't. He stands there stoically while I try to thwart some sort of weird post-death panic attack.

"You're like that… honorable guy… in those movies… that always gives the sword back when he loses it in the middle of the fight," I say hoarsely.

"Maybe I am. Are you ready to sit down and have a civilized conversation?" Dr. Strange asks. "Or do we keep doing the same shit again and again till I knock you senseless?"

"I said I'm not giving up," I repeat, "I just - need - to catch - my breath…" I stumble sideways and catch myself from toppling over completely, leaning further down like I'm struggling to do yoga.

Then I shoot a stream of web right in the center of Dr. Strange's chest without looking up.

He probably knew it was coming, because a circle of gold appears right under my feet, and I'm suddenly plunging down, down, down, free-falling into a pool of inky darkness like someone just tossed me down a well -

But - the web -

Sticks.

I feel the shudder through the line to my palm, the inflection of his chest suddenly breathing in, (tug) and out (slacken) -

And I jerk my arm back.

With a yelp, Dr. Strange is falling with me - the blackness closes over our heads, and the sunlight re-opens below us, crystallizing in a burst of color and weird, pyramid shapes in translucent glass.

We fall through a circle into the sky, upside down and backwards, and with a screech I land on the side of a building. A gray and yellow apartment building - downtown New York - ten stories. The horizon line is a street, sideways, with cars that should be falling off.

Right, and left, the building stretches past me in either direction, windows at horizontal angles instead of vertical.

Jesus, Dr. Strange just took me into Inception!

He lands beside me in an angry crouch, and I glance at him a second too late, only fast enough to realize his cape isn't around his shoulders any more.

Something red and heavy drops over my face, wrapping around and around like a bath towel on crack. I start struggling and fighting to breathe under it, shouting incoherently and flailing like a trapped squirrel. Then suddenly, there's nothing under my feet.

In the darkness, I scream, and me and the cape go plunging down - down - down -

I feel the sharp yank of the web on my arm, attached - still - to Dr. Strange, but just as I manage to push the cape up and off my face, I see a yellow disc slice through the web and detach us.

"OOMPH!" I cry, suddenly zooming towards the library floor at top speed. I kick my legs out to brace myself naturally, only I am at the wrong angle, landing on my back painfully and kicking the bookshelf in front of me instead of the floor.

The bookcase begins to tip towards the others -

Oh, no, I've seen this movie where all the shelves go like dominos -

There's a flash of green, and the bookshelf leans back towards me, disobeying gravity.

I flip over onto my stomach and push myself up, when the cape flies back towards me and slaps me hard in the face with an audible SNAP.

"All right, carpet! Wana piece of me?" I yell angrily. "I could go ALL DAY!"

The cape, instead, floats away from me, and settles comfortably around Dr. Strange's shoulders. He leans against the door frame casually, eating an apple.

"Done yet?" he asks flippantly.

I am aching, bruised, and battered all over. Still, I form a pair of fists and grind my heel into the floor. "Bored yet?" I snarl. My eyes dart to the pendant around his neck, still glittering with green time-magic inside from making the shelves go backwards.

"It's called the Eye of Agamotto," Dr. Strange narrates pleasantly, tossing the finished apple core to the floor. "We've been over this before, you know. We even stopped for a snack last time,"

"I don't care-otto," I reply. I use my web to shoot the ceiling, where an unlit chandelier resides in a cloud of cobwebs. I fly off the floor, swinging up, and up, kicking out last second in the arch and plunging my feet right into Dr. Strange's chest, then drawing my knees up instantly, leaning forward in midair to punch him squarely in the face, again sending jolts through my knuckles and down to my elbow. Ouch, I really need to work on those.

He "oomphs!" with surprise and falls back, but even as he falls, creates a circle for himself to fall into, but -

I send my web past it, splattering the wall, hooking my hand through the chain of the necklace - and then my damn heel hits Dr. Strange's apple core on the floor at the last second.

I skid, and trip -

Dr. Strange falls into his own escape route, but the pendant stays at my elbow -

The chain drawing taught, the metal biting into my arm -

His eyes widen at the apple. One change in the routine, however many times we've been through this. He brought this one himself.

And I'm ridiculously clumsy, for a superhero.

Dr. Strange disappears with a shout of "NO!" when the circle closes over his head.

Green, glittering, in my hand, the eye of Aga-whatever would probably be glaring if it had an eyebrow.

I hold it firmly, unmoving.

"Oh shit," I say, putting the chain-thing around my own neck, stumbling away from where the energy still crinkles in the air. I back up against the wall, looking for an escape route. Down the hall, approximately twenty four feet, there's another skylight…

I hear a shout from somewhere in the building.

The circle appears behind me again, but I'm already facing where I expect him to appear, but only his hands shoot out - not the rest of him -

I dart sideways, falling out of the library and into a solitary hallway, smelling damp of mildew and lined with ancient portraits hanging on the wall. Several painted faces bearing huge frowns glare down at me, dashing down the length of it, searching for a familiar room. The satchel thumps at my side and I'm shocked Dr. Strange hasn't taken it from me yet -

He really doesn't want to hurt me, I realize. He truly doesn't. He would have had to by now if he was going to take it. Man… he's probably so mad for taking this time thing…

It almost feels too easy?

Did he LET me have it?

No, the apple surprised him. That was his fault.

Plus, the REAL Doctor Strange will forgive me when I hand him his infinity stone in the doorchard. We can go back in time before we died. I'm sure we can. He'll be happy with me.

They all will.

They have to.

Because we can save them.

I open the satchel, my spider-senses blasting ice-cold shivers over the back of my neck. I grab the cylinder with the red stone waiting patiently inside. I feel a sentient delight pouring out of it, and my hands tremble. I hold it in one hand, and grasp the shining pendant with my other hand.

"Okay," I whisper. "Now what the hell do I do?"

"Peter, stop, stop it now," Dr. Strange is entering through the opposite doorway, looking a bit disheveled now, his cheek rosy-pink where I punched him.

Wait a second… this looks like the real Dr. Strange. The dead one. The one from the doorchard. He never agreed that Peter Quill was the one who punched him. He only said…

"Wait, wait, wait," I say, backing up. "Did you…"

"Don't move," he says urgently, but he's interrupted.

"Peter!" says another voice, and Dr. Strange steps out of a golden portal bursting at the end of the hallway. He looks over at his doppelganger with a startled look of fear.

"Shit," says the first Dr. Strange.

"Peter Parker," says a third, and Dr. Strange steps out of the library, hands help up in a defensive position. He looks over at the other two. "Oh, great," he says sarcastically.

"Mr. Parker!" A very angry Dr. Strange suddenly stumbles out of yet another doorway. "THIS HAS GONE ON LONG ENOUGH!"

"Oh, Jesus," I whisper hoarsely. "Quadruplets."

"Give me back the stone," says Dr. Strange number four.

"Ah, no, nope, that would be me," says the third. "I'm further in the timeline than you."

"No, you're not," says the fourth.

"Don't move, don't think, don't… stand very still," says the first Dr. Strange. "You're activating their powers. Any minute now, they'll try to interact - you MAY catch on fire."

"You'd better get a fire extinguisher then," I respond nervously. I don't know what else to do. Maybe I SHOULD give this up.

I hold them tighter, and I feel my hands grow hot. A small green light appears at my palm, like the golden discs, only smaller, and lime-green. There's tiny symbols and shapes beginning to flicker and appear at my first… am I about to spontaneously combust?

I really hope he grabs a fire extinguisher.

I shut my eyes and I think of Aunt May.

"Peter?"

I open my eyes in Aunt May's apartment.

It's nighttime.

The lights are off.

The orange glow of the streetlamp makes a patch on the living room floor.

She's standing in front of me in a bathrobe, looking confused. "Peter, honey," she says slowly, "What's burning?"

…

...

* * *

...

* * *

Coming Next: Well, Peter has gone and effed things up. Hopefully temporarily. Will his plan actually work to save the world from Thanos?

* * *

All the thank yous to my beta Crystal, who is beta-ing her own gift fic for her birthday, haha.

Please be sure to check out her "Paint It Black" universe here in fanfiction. There's currently three books, the third in progress. First: Paint it Black, Second: Silent Night, Third: Riders in the Sky. Find her stories in my favorites or her penname QueenofCrystallopia in my favorite authors!

And she just posted a new chapter, too! Number eleven in "Riders in the Sky"!

* * *

 **PERSONAL REVIEWER REPLIES!**

* * *

gammathetaalpha: Thank you so so much! Im so glad you like it!

Fanatic2018: Sorry it took so long, this chapter was a DOOZY to write!

NursingStudent: Glad you enjoyed my creepy little twist!

ParadoxicOrder8: RIGHT? I have definitely suggested a crossover/team up. I think we might try a short fic together sometime!

Guest: You are too kind, thank you!

MickeyMarceline101: haha, thanks for the reminder! I always reread and edit and try to make corrections, but I don't always spot everything!

SleepingAngry: You're welcome! hugs!

TeamCaptain2016: Squeeee! I am so so so glad you like my story! Thank you!

EleanorGardner: You are so kind, thank you so much. I am sorry it took so long for me to write this chapter haha. Hopefully the wait was worth it!

NyxieDust: Man, sorry it took so long to upload. This chapter was really DENSE and it took me a long time to figure out all the moving pieces! Thank you for your kind review!

cargumentluv: Glad you liked the reference ;)

curry-llama: Hopefully Peter's own theories help, too! Thank you for reading and being so invested, it means the world!

64Felicity: Oh wow, it totally could be the Venom movie too! I was actually referencing my friend's fanfiction "Paint it Black" which I highly recommend!

AndurilofTolkien: Thank you darling

silver-roses12: Hope you love this one too! Thank you for reading so much

readingisapriority: LOL I loved your review! Thank you for your reactions they make me so happy lol

AppleSpongeCake: LOL yes I am the one that made the fan trailer for paint it black! Great catch! XD And yes Crystal is one of my dearest friends, I am the luckiest writer in the world to have her sharing her work with me and encouraging me in mine!


	13. Part IV: Mind - The Misuse of Agamotto

PART FOUR - MIND

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

 _The Misuse of Agamotto_

* * *

…

...

There's smoke drifting out of my hands, and the capsule for the red stone, and even the pendant, are very very very very hot.

"Ouch!" I squeak, letting go of the pendant. Instantly cool, it flops harmlessly against my chest, the chain making an indiscernible clink.

I open the satchel at my side and drop the cylinder inside. The heat pressing against my leg through the fabric drops considerably, and the smell of burnt material wafts away. When I'm certain it's not actually catching fire, I fasten the bag shut.

Slowly - painfully, hurtfully slowly - I drag my guilty eyes up to Aunt May's startled expression as she watches with complete confusion.

"Hey Aunt May," I say slowly. "Do you… I mean, do you know me?"

She looks me up and down. "Yes?" she repeats uncertainty. "Did something happen to you? How did you appear like that out of thin air?" she points at the window. "Usually you sneak in through a door or a window."

I look around, trying to catch my bearings. How did I… WHAT did I do?

"What?" I ask.

Suddenly, the crown of Ned's head appears from the top of the couch. He struggles out from beneath a blanket, huffing and fighting with the folds, till he's standing up blearily and blinking the sleep away.

"Holy shit," I whisper.

What if - WHAT IF - I put myself back into the reality I died from? What if Ned is staying over because something happened to his parents? What if the dust-effect happened literally everywhere?

"You're BACK!" Ned exclaims hoarsely. "How'd you do that? Did you phase through a wall? Are you a ghost - wait, wait, wait, did you DIE?"

"I did die..." I respond slowly. "Wait - back from where?"

"Why do you sound so weird?" Ned replies slowly. "You sound like you have a cold."

"Get the light, please, Ned," Aunt May replies in a tight voice.

Ned practically falls at the light fixture by the front door, putting all of his weight into turning it on.

Then they stare at me, mouths agape.

I realize I am, too.

They're younger.

It's not as obvious for Aunt May, though her face looks less… worried. Okay. Maybe less… wrinkled? I would literally die a second time before saying that out loud. She doesn't look old at all. Not by usual standards. But it isn't until I'm seeing a younger version of her that I realize how much Uncle Ben's death had aged her.

Ned, on the other hand, it's way more obvious. He's shorter and wider, and his voice is somewhere between childlike and puberty.

"DUDE," Ned breaks the silence, dragging his eyes up and down my dirty Spider-Man suit, the bag, my face. "How did you… how are… you're so - you're so OLD!"

"What, what, what," Aunt May says carefully, stepping close and putting her hands on my shoulders.

I'm taller than her. She looks at me up and down, trying to take in every detail, not believing what she sees. "How - how did you - why? I mean, no, not why, how?"

I slowly point at the pendant I'm wearing. "Time travel?"

"That's so SICK!" Ned erupts, his voice shifting from high pitched, to a crack, and then dropping an octave. "I mean," he adds, embarrassed. "That's… that's cool, I guess. Are you in high school now? What's high school like?"

"Ned," Aunt May says warningly. "Please. Later. Honey," she says to me, "How old are you…? I mean - yes. How old are you from where you… you… came from?"

"I'm almost sixteen..." I ask, struggling to remember what Vision told me. He said that he only interacted with me once or twice, but was never formally introduced. He couldn't recall any actual conversations we had, except maybe a phrase in passing… that I sought the help of other Avengers, never him.

But he remembered clearly that I was younger when I passed him by.

"SIXTEEN?" Aunt May repeats, her dark eyes clouded with irreparable worry. She actually takes a step back from me. "My - my Peter," she says. "My Peter is twelve."

"I'm still Peter," I say, hurt by the way she steps away - separates me from my younger self. "Aunt May," I add, desperately. "Please. Don't… don't be scared of me. I'm so, so sorry to wake you up in the middle of the night like this. I didn't mean to come here... I think I'm in trouble."

Aunt May's brief fear instantly dissipates. Or maybe she only sets it aside for my benefit. "Oh, honey, honey, I'm not scared of you, not for a second," she comes close again, but only to take my arm and lead me to the couch. Ned tries to pull the blankets off quickly to make space.

She sits me down quickly and drops beside me, taking my hand in hers. "How - how - how can I help? Tell me what happened and…" she trails off, uncertain.

Ned interrupts, standing by the front door awkwardly. "What if Peter comes back?" he squeaks. "What if he sees his older self and it's a paradox and they erase each other out of existence by accident?"

"Doesn't work like that," I say quickly. "The worst I'd probably do is get in an argument with myself."

Hopefully not a fight with myself, I think with a wince. If my powers came to me at an earlier age in this universe, who knows how volatile they are? How emotionally I would react? What if Uncle Ben is alive here too? Or died earlier? I'm sure if he were alive here, he'd be in the living room with us.

"Where did you go?" Aunt May asks softly in the awkward silence that fell.

"I was thinking about Uncle Ben," I answer honestly for once.

"Oh," she says sharply. "Yes - of course. If… if he were here, he would… he would…" she stops and shakes her head. "I meant where did you go to. You - I mean, my version of you - younger you - you've been in meetings with the Avengers off and on for the last week."

"Vision said he saw me last week with Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner. And went home yesterday." I blink at her. "Did I - I mean, younger me - not get home yesterday?"

"No," Aunt May says, her breath hitching slightly. "That's why - we… Ned wanted to wait up for you. You were supposed to be here hours ago. We've been worried. And calling. No one has answered at the facility. Mr. Stark isn't answering the emergency line. We haven't been able to reach anyone."

Suddenly I have a ludicrous picture in my head of staying in this dimension longer than expected in order to help Aunt May find my younger self.

Young Spider-Man getting in over his head and then rescued by older Spider-Man?

What could go wrong?

(all of it).

But I hadn't planned to stay, in fact…

I cast my gaze with some desperation around the room. Apartment door, normal.

Bedroom door, normal. Aunt May's bedroom… normal.

There's a small, soft light at the end of the hall. Not a nightlight.

It's the bathroom door, glowing. My exit, should I choose to leave now.

"So this is really a good thing," Ned says carefully. "Like, if Peter can time travel in the future, it means he's fine, May! If something terrible happened to our version of Peter now, he wouldn't be able to grow up to travel back to us. Right?" He looks at me pointedly.

I'm astonished - even now. He is trying to have my back with May. Even though this version of me is… totally different.

"Right," I say quickly. "Obviously."

Aunt May's face pinches the way it does when she senses a lie. "Then why don't you just tell me why you're late and why no one is answering my calls?" she asks. "It's in your past, isn't it? Surely you remember this mission you went on so urgently with the Avengers. Why you never arrived home yesterday?" She gives me a look, nearly angry, but most certainly getting there if I try to keep up a charade. "What could be so important you didn't call? Why don't you just tell me now, and save me the worry?"

I blink.

Aunt May is… way too smart for me.

"I have no idea how to answer," I respond.

"Because you are a different Peter," Aunt May says. "Don't think I… can't tell. I can. Older as you may be. You're not time traveling, whatever hooey you think it is. You did something else. And you can't tell me what your younger self is up to because it isn't your younger self at all, is it?"

"You're very observant," I mutter guiltily.

"Damn straight," Aunt May replies.

"Wait, you're not grown-up Peter?" Ned says with confusion. "Are you like one of those shape-shifting enhanced people that borrows other people's appearances and uses it for evil?"

He looks genuinely scared now.

"NO," I exclaim. "Guys - no! Not at all! But - okay, well, partially right. May," I add, "May's theory. Not Ned's. You're right, Aunt May. It's still me. Different me. I can't explain… again. It'll take too long. I did time travel. And… well, like I said, long story. I'm still Peter but not this Peter."

She looks me over once more, unsure of what to say next.

"Aunt May, I've missed you so much," I blurt. "It doesn't matter what - what universe I end up in, how long I stay, what age I am and who I'm with - I miss you so much. I can hardly stand it." I blink back tears. "It's so good to see you."

Aunt May struggles to speak, unsure of my partial breakdown. She reaches across and pushes a thumb under my eye to wipe a single escaping tear, then pulls me into an embrace. I hug her back fiercely, unwilling to let go. Her hug is careful. Mine is desperate.

Ned clears his throat awkwardly, and Aunt May pulls back first. "As simply as you possibly can," she says, "Tell me why you are here?"

"I'm - well I think I'm trying to save the world?" I grin. "But a different world. That's the short version. Maybe," I hesitate, my grin fading. "I don't know...Actually I have no idea what I'm doing and I have like, four time traveling doctors that might be really pissed off at me right now."

"It is obvious you are a Peter," Aunt May replies, fighting a smirk, "No one else could try and bullshit so much and still be as clueless as you are right now."

"Wait," Ned whispers in utter delight. "Doctor Who is REAL?"

I open my mouth to protest but I am interrupted by a loud knock on the door.

Ned instantly shoots a look of terror at the door, and then over to the clock on the wall. It's way too late for visitors.

Aunt May starts to stand up, but I put a hand on her arm. "Let me get it," I say quietly. "Just… just in case."

"Okay," she accepts this without argument, standing up and walking over to Ned. She puts her arm around his broad shoulders, giving him an encouraging squeeze.

His eyes never leave me as I walk to the door, looking through the peephole.

Can't see anything. It's covered.

"Just, stay quiet for a moment," I whisper, gesturing at May and Ned to stand back.

"Maybe it's younger-you and you lost your keys," Ned whispers.

"Too dark to tell," I whisper back.

I undo the security lock, the bolt, and then with a pop of sealed air, the cool temperature of the hall seeps in, and I'm peering through a small, fist-width opening at the woman suddenly shoving the door open in my face.

Wanda Maximoff pushes the door roughly with a burst of red power, stomping into the room with a bright burst of energy. May and Ned both cry out in surprise.

I step back quickly, one foot after another, her advance on me aggressive, those strange fingers of her curling and twisting, maintaining the energy that crackles like red lightning. I hit the wall of the living room behind me by the windows - cornered.

"Peter Parker," she says, in an accent thicker than I've ever heard her use. It sounds like my name was spelt with eight Rs and each one is tripping over the other to get to the end.

"Yes, hi - Wanda, miss - um - hello? Whoa!" I finally hold my hands out. "Just, just, slow down for a second! Jeeze!"

Now, too late, I consider the possibility that this is not a friendly visit. I should have been thinking in terms of any other universe except my own.

"How can I help you?" I attempt, when she says nothing. I lower my hands, one clutching the pendant around my neck.

"Do not move," she says cryptically. Her eyes flick down to the pendant, and the red lights trail like strings in the air, undulating and twitching like electric eels. One comes dangerously close to my face.

"I'm not moving!" I exclaim. "I'm NOT moving! Ma'am? Miss Wanda?"

A shadow steps in behind her, filling the apartment doorway. Iron Man clunks into the room, the heavy metal footfalls bonking unfortunately on the floor. Aunt May's downstairs neighbors are going to give her an earful…

"Mr. Stark!" I exclaim.

The glow in the eyes of his mask turns off, and the visor flips up, revealing a seething face within.

Oh no.

"Interesting," he says, his voice tight with anger. "They just grow up so fast, don't they?"

"Can someone PLEASE explain to me WHAT is going on?" Aunt May steps protectively in front of Ned.

"In case you didn't notice, Mrs. Parker," Mr. Stark says, his eyes black with doubt. "Your nephew looks a little different than the last time you saw him."

"Of course I noticed, asshole," Aunt May replies. "What'd you do to him? Where is he?"

I blink in shock at her tone. There's deep animosity rippling from them. No mild semblance of friendship or even professional courtesy.

"I'm going to preface everything with this," Mr. Stark turns to Aunt May. "We may have an… imposter situation. The Peter Parker that you know is sitting - perfectly safe - downstairs - in the car. Waiting for my signal that it's time to come up." He glances swiftly back at me. "When this little problem is taken care of."

Aunt May looks at me, reading the hurt flash across my face before I even feel it myself.

"That's… good news, that - he's safe," she replies, unsure. "He's… he's late. You both are."

"Nature of the business," Mr. Stark answers crisply. "We had an unavoidable delay from our enemies. We went dark for a short period to avoid detection." He sounds like he's just rattling off words from a very unsympathetic script. "We are sorry we worried you."

This Stark seems to lack something that mine has. I can't tell what it is though. Kindness?

A heart?

"But as you can see, there is something else far more pressing at hand," he turns to me, eyes almost… hateful. "Such as another Peter Parker in your living room looking just a little too old and a little too tall."

I raise my left hand slowly, sarcastically, keeping my other tight around the Eye.

Wanda's eyes glimmer, expecting the worst.

"Listen," I say slowly. "Why don't we all just… calm… calm down. Let me tell you what happened. I'd be happy to. There's just been a mistake."

"Was it a mistake to steal the time stone from the doctor?" Mr. Stark says darkly. I expect a rant, a funny metaphor, anything Tony-like. I slowly lower my hand again.

Nothing.

He's calling me out on my crime. And he's not wrong.

I open my mouth hesitantly. "No. It was not a mistake."

"Then whatever incarnation you are, no matter what month or universe you've found yourself in," Mr. Stark says sarcastically, "You've crossed the line. Big time."

"You've betrayed us," Wanda adds, the powers glittering. I feel the static in the air and take another step back.

"No," I say firmly. "I…"

I did.

"I didn't," I say.

No, I really did.

"The esteemed doctor alerted us of your break in, fighting him even while still pretending to be one of our own, and stealing the eye," Mr. Stark rattles off my indiscretions angrily. "You even manipulate Vision's kind nature with some story about Thanos to get him to agree!"

"I wasn't manipulating him, I was telling the truth!" I say, horrified.

"Listen to me, whatever you are," Mr. Stark wags his finger at me. "You can't be an older Peter Parker time traveling back to help your younger self because you only just stole the timestone. It's bullshit, whatever he probably told you," he says this dismissively to Aunt May as if she's a total idiot. "Now the intern is downstairs in my car right now scared to death that some older guy stole his face and used it to get in the compound, the Sanctum, and now his aunt's apartment."

I can barely form words to defend myself. I never thought for a second that I would literally be screwing over MYSELF in another universe. And now all my friends are looking at me like a… a… public enemy number one.

To them, I'm a supervillain with someone else's face.

"I can explain everything if you just listen," I say desperately, fighting panic and the warning spider-sense clamoring for my attention from every glint of power from Wanda and the level stare of my mentor. "Thanos - he, he's going, I mean he did…"

"Stop," Mr. Stark holds up a hand. "Not another word about Thanos. We have everything we need from the trickster."

"Who's that?" Ned and I blurt out at the same time. Ned gives me a small, almost shy, smile. I'm really a stranger to him, I realize. He's only nice to me, this me, because… because he's Ned.

"Wait," I say, my brain trying to rummage through every nickname I've heard. "Isn't that Loki? Thor's brother? HE told you about Thanos? You can't trust anything he says!"

"We can trust what I took from what was left of his shattered mind," Wanda says coolly.

"Maximoff," Stark warns. "Not another word."

That fear niggling at the back of my skull only increases exponentially.

Wanda tore Loki's mind apart looking for information on Thanos, and Mr. Stark sounds completely unsurprised - and unbothered - by this. That also means Mr. Stark knows what Thanos is capable of, and still doesn't care about what I have to say about the universe I came from. At all. Even if it means helping them.

And what is this strange indifference to Aunt May's feelings? Is the young Peter in this world just "the intern", a tiny Avenger project that they use as a weapon sometimes and don't feel the need to communicate with May about where he is? What they're doing?

And Vision still had my back and Mr. Stark believed I was just trying to manipulate him, discrediting both Vision's superior intelligence and my integrity?

I don't like this universe. At all.

I need to go.

I want to go.

Should I try to go back to the white door in the back hall?

My eyes flicker over to the hall entrance, briefly. Big mistake.

"Do not consider for one second I will not rip your arms off if you try," Wanda intones calmly, even gracefully.

Aunt May takes an urgent step towards me, the arm of the iron-suit shoots out like a rail dropping in front of a car to keep it from crossing. She bumps against it, her face horrified, and torn, and her eyes meet mine with fear. Fear and love both.

"Peter," she says, "Other… Other Peter? Sweetheart? Just do what they say. It will be okay. Go with Mr. Stark and Ms. Maximoff back to the compound. You can explain everything there, I'm sure."

She's trying so hard to help. She can't be certain it's me. She's staring into my eyes as hard as she can and she still can't fully tell. All she knows that is that kid that she loves, the one that she raised, is downstairs after an undisclosed mission and that's who she wants to see. That's who she wants to comfort. Not me.

There's something frighteningly hungry in Wanda's expression, like she wants me to try to flee for the hall anyway, just so that she can have the pleasure of tearing me to pieces with her power.

This cannot end in a fight.

It's a fight I know I can't win. Even winning the stone from Dr. Strange was a fluke, an accident. A happy accident. Beating Wanda and Stark together? Endangering Ned and May?

I can't even entertain the thought, not for a second.

"I need to go, Mr. Stark," I say, the sadness in my voice unmistakable.

His gaze is hard, unmoving. "Don't try it."

"We're taking you back, face-stealer," Wanda purrs. Her red powers coil and slither in the air towards me, beginning to form a sort of twirling line around me. Any minute now, it will probably cinch tight, and my chance will be gone.

"I have to go," I repeat.

I don't want to go, I don't want to go.

No, I DO want to go! Shut up, death-memories.

Wrong place, wrong time.

You're getting too involved, Dr. Strange had said. Said to me with a black eye that I can't be sure I had not given to him. Maybe it was me, maybe it was Peter Quill. I should probably figure that out before I accidentally destroy the universe or something. Thanos Jr.

Ohhhh shit.

I'm too involved, too emotionally invested. It doesn't matter if these people believe me or not. They're clearly confident in their preparations for Thanos. They already have a Peter.

They don't need me.

"We have to find out how to defeat Thanos," I say painfully.

"First," Mr. Stark says. "The stone. Give it back."

Oh, that.

I need it for defeating Thanos. But… so do they.

We've already lost our fight. I'm dooming them to lose theirs too, right?

Or not - if I take it, then Thanos can't steal it from Dr. Strange, and this universe avoids having the gauntlet at full capacity at any given time. We only LOST because he had them all. Every stone.

If I take one, Thanos never gains full power. It gives them a better chance.

Right?

So really, I'm saving them.

"No," I say softly.

I shut my eyes to Aunt May's pleading gaze. Ned's young face. Stark's hatred and Wanda's magic.

I squeeze the pendant in my hand and I think -

The future.

Take me to the future.

Thanos's future. Just to check.

"Ouch!" I exclaim, my eyes bursting open with red-hot heat pulsing through my body. I thought Wanda made good on her threats at last.

Only, she didn't. Because she's not there.

No one is there.

The air is brutally cold, and a sharp wind pushes at me.

I'm looking at a completely desolate landscape. Like a desert, it's empty and brown, the flat ground beginning a slight incline up ahead, creating small hills of dust. Dunes of nothing.

Even the air is slightly brown, and I'm choking on a taste in the air like smoke.

Everything is… obliterated. Dead and dry.

"Hello?" I call into the expanse, but my voice is whisked away.

With a twinge of fear, I realize - no doors, white or otherwise.

None.

There's no structures of any kind. Just a dead planet, like Titan. Even less so.

I take a brief step forward, the single scuff of my foot against the dead ground making a scrape loud enough to startle myself.

I hold the pendant again.

I should… I should give this back and forget the whole thing. Clearly I won't be saving anyone.

It doesn't look like there's anyone left to save.

"Back to Aunt May's," I whisper. "But, maybe not the exact moment I left. That'd be a bad idea. Thanks. Please? I mean - maybe…"

I didn't shut my eyes this time, so I watch in terrorized, but frozen fascination, as the landscape around me erupts as if a volcano burst beneath my feet. The brown ground upheaves into horrifying elongated shapes, long pieces of metal uncurling from melted, twisted pieces out of the ground and shooting into the sky above me, stretching further and taller, straightening as charred remains all around me turn from dark gray ash to molten, lava-orange embers, and then within the flames, shapes crumble in reverse until they become drywall, floors, carpets, furniture.

An apartment fire in reverse.

"Whoa!" I squeak as the floor beneath me rises like an elevator, rooms repairing themselves beneath me as the floor that had once collapsed clicks into place between the walls of Aunt May's apartment. The window glass shards on the floor around me twinkle in the air and throw themselves back into the frames, knitting themselves back together until the sheen is faultless. The smell of smoke dissipates, the heated air fades into a dark, twilight evening.

Seasons - years, maybe - pass by the window in speedy rewind, the colors changing rapidly as the sun and moon wind around the earth crazily.

Until it pauses.

It's probably about seven in the evening. Fall. I can see one of the trees from the street, branches stretching into the alleyway, bearing dark orange leaves.

There's no lights on, but there is just enough evening left to light the room with a mildly blue hue, like I'm standing at a viewing point in an underground aquarium.

I'm in my bedroom. My old twin bed is against the wall. Not sure what year it is, but it's before Aunt May and I found the bunk-bed on the sidewalk outside the apartment that one Saturday with a "FREE" sign on it. We had decided to claim it.

Before I know it, I'm reliving it like it's happening in front of me, sunlight streaming through the lobby windows.

"Now you can - have a space - for Ned," Aunt May had said as we struggled to shove the pieces into the elevator. "And I - can have - the twin!"

"Why do you want a twin?" I had asked, and then regretted asking. Instantly.

"The queen is too big for me now," she had replied quickly, looking away.

"May, I'm sorry," I said.

"Pivot, Peter!" she had joked, changing the subject. "Pivot!"

I blink at the muted, blue darkness of the room. My desk is pushed back in it's old corner, the clothes falling out of the closet because I didn't have a secondhand dresser yet. I look up at the small opening in the ceiling above - a small seam visible. It's not shut all the way. Opened recently, I should think…

The window slides open and I - another me - slips inside.

Another Peter Parker… sneaking in at night.

Oh no.

A Peter-like-me drops the sash down, letting out a sigh of relief, and turns to face the front of the room.

He stops short at the sight of me.

"Don't-scream-or-I'll-tell-everyone-you're-Spider-Man!" I blurt in an urgent whisper, holding out my hands like I'm a postman urging a dog to not rush me.

I watch in the weirdest way as myself, my own self, looks at me with massive eyes of paranoid fear. His mouth his clenched so hard he looks like he's trying to keep something from falling out.

"Don't do anything you'll - we - regret," I say, wincing at my own bad line. I slowly step back and shut the door to the hallway behind me. "Let's talk."

"Are you, are you, are you," my other self stutters. Peter, I guess. It's me. Peter. Just… another Peter.

Holy shit.

"Are you, me?" he asks, looking me up and down. His voice gets a little… shrieky. "You look like me?!"

"Yeah, yes, yes, yes," I whisper, pushing a finger to my lips and shushing him. "Yes, you're me, I'm you, we're both Peter Parker…"

"Holy shit," Peter takes a step back towards the window, hands reaching up and grasping his own hair by the handful. "Holy - holy shit! This is the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me!" His voice goes so high it gives out on 'weirdest' and spends the rest of the sentence trying to come down an octave.

"Wait, do I really sound like that?" I exclaim.

"Oh it's still talking, it's still talking," Peter-me begins to pace back and forth, wringing his hands, grabbing his hair, then wringing them again. "Another me is in my room! Another me is in my room! I'm talking to me! I've finally done it. I've died and I'm hallucinating. This is the worst. What do I tell Aunt May? No! Wait! I can't tell Aunt May! Oh shit!"

"Calm down!" I say, stepping towards him. "You're not dead! I'm just passing through!"

Me, or him, I don't… Peter. We'll just stick with Peter.

Peter looks at me, his expression utterly horrified. "Passing through?! Like time travel? Are you a time-traveling Future-Me determined to make me lose my MIND?!"

"Yeah?" I shrug at him apologetically. "I'm sorry! I didn't know you were about to just - POP in!"

"It's MY room!"

"It's mine too!"

"I, I," Peter stutters. "I didn't INVITE YOU!"

"I didn't know when or where I'd end up!"

Peter steps closer to me and points a finger at my face. "You can't be me! That's not my suit!"

I look down and realize he's still wearing the red and blue sweatpants and hoodie. Before I got the suit upgrade from Mr. Stark.

"That's just phase one!" I protest.

"There's a phase two?" Peter gasps. "How would you know?"

"Cuz I'm still you!" I nearly shout, but I catch myself, and lower my voice. "But I won't - I won't bother you. I just need to… I was hoping to tell everyone I was going to give the stone back."

"What stone?" Peter asks, his eyes glinting with interest, instantly forgetting the potential threat a future-him could pose. Wow, am I that easy to read? "What are you talking about?"

"It's not… no, I should, I've doomed you all to a literal apocalypse of nothing if I keep this," I say, "So I gotta give it back to Strange."

"Strange? Who is Strange?" Peter steps closer to me again, his eyes glancing at the Eye of Agamotto. "What's that? Is that the stone?"

"I need to travel in time and give it back to Dr. Strange," I say uneasily, taking a step back towards the door. "Be-before. I was in the Sanctum and then I was in May's apartment. I should have only changed time, not place. I'm not sure why the Eye is doing that."

I think about the reality stone burning me through the bag. Or…

"I thought you were talking about a stone?" Peter exclaims. "Whose eye is it?"

"Dr. Strange…"

"You stole a doctor's eye?!" Peter flings his hands out expressively. "My future self is a Frankenstein! Great!"

"This was a huge mistake," I groan. "I keep - keep - screwing this all up! I just need to give the stone back. But I'm in the wrong place, so I should probably…" I step back towards the door, reaching for the knob. "I should go and…"

Suddenly a splash of web explodes on my hand, sticking me to the knob. I look down at my hand in shock, then I glance back at myself.

"Don't tell Aunt May," Peter says fearfully, his gaze firm, pointing one finger at me. The other lowers where he had literally just used my own invented web shooters against me.

"I'm not going to tell Aunt May!" I protest. "I'm just trying to LEAVE and get out of YOUR life and get back to MINE!"

He stares at me, chest heaving. "Oh," he says, embarrassed. "I thought you were outing me."

"WHY WOULD I OUT YOU?" I tug on my hand, but it's stuck pretty good. "It's MY secret identity, too!"

Peter blinks at me, and I can see the wheels turning in his mind. "Oh. Yeah."

"I do need to leave. Do you WANT me to break our door?" My extra strength would probably rip the knob out of the door and destroy it.

But he just stands there, staring like a scarecrow.

"Now," I urge. "Cut me loose!"

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Peter rushes to the desk and opens the drawer where I know my knife is kept.

Suddenly I'm hit with deja vu. Not because I ended up in another Peter's past, but because I had the same conversation with Tony Stark when he showed up unexpectedly in my apartment and turned my life upside down.

Peter dashes over to me and cuts my hand out of the web. I use my strength to rip the rest of it off and stick what's left to the wall beside closet. There's still some on my hand.

"That'll dissolve in two hours," we say simultaneously.

Then we stare at each other with a mix of delight and horror.

"It's time for me to go," I say with absolute finality. "This has been - fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Other-Peter gives me a look that could melt glaciers. "I CAN'T do anything you haven't done already…?!"

"BYE," I burst, pushing through the door and shutting it behind me quickly. I hold it shut for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"This is so weird," I whisper, stepping away and into the hall.

"This is SO weird!" says my voice in a panicked shriek from inside my room.

I pause, thinking about what to do next.

Okay, okay, okay… I need to give it back. But I keep misusing the stone somehow. So maybe I find the white door, go through it, then turn right around and go back through it. Maybe it puts me back at the bus stop. Maybe I take a bus to the Sanctum instead of the Avengers compound this time, and I give it to Dr. Strange then…

None of the doors in this hall are white.

Okay, so, maybe not that option.

I need to rewind this whole shitstorm to when I first got here. Maybe the moment I got to the Sanctum. That would undo everything. I'll just hand it back to Dr. Strange and tell him I'm sorry and let it go from there. Maybe I just leave it in the middle of the entry with a note if he's not home.

"Are you just standing in the hallway right now overthinking this?" whispers my voice from the door.

"Yes, yes, I am," I snap. "Let me think. Please."

"How long are you going to stand out there? You're going to wake Aunt May!"

"Open that door in three seconds and I'll be gone," I hiss at my bedroom door.

"Yeah, okay, suuure, Future-Me," replies my own voice sarcastically. "One... Two..."

I grasp the Eye of Agamotto and think

The beginning.

Suddenly I'm falling face-first into a mouthful of cold dirt.

I lift my head and look at my surroundings.

Birds chirp and whistle incessantly loudly in the dripping branches, protesting my sudden arrival. Huge oaks and pines tower overhead, laden with moss and vines.

Ancient growth is all around me, gnarled roots and massive ferns growing out of a tumbling, uneven hillside. Mist drifts lazily through the tallest trees, betraying the shadow of a huge mountain peak somewhere behind them.

It's biting cold, and the air smells like approaching snow.

A large bird begins to caw at me, black eyes glinting from a high perch. The sound is irrepressibly creepy.

"Easy, Mr. Barton," I say, taking a deep breath.

I can smell snow and smoke. Bad smoke.

That's not mist, I realize, taking a deeper breath. Too cold for mist. It's a lot of smoke. And not the pleasant woodsmoke of a bonfire burning near these European-looking woods.

The different scents slowly reveal themselves to me in a layered wave of revelations - there are a lot of different materials somewhere burning hard, and fast.

Rubber. Melting metal. Plastic.

Human flesh.

I break into a run, diving between the trees, running blindly towards a break between them. Woods hundreds of years old, tripping me with outstretched hands and unseen roots, finally give way to reveal the fire.

It's a plane crash.

In the middle of the forest.

…

...

* * *

...

* * *

Coming Next: Peter manages to screw things up even more, but finally finds the person who can set it right again. What a circus.

* * *

This story wouldn't be possible without my beta Crystal, who is not only my beta but my friend, and this is her fan-fiction birthday present, so she's getting a lot of spoilers to beta her own gift fic... what a champ!

Please be sure to check out her "Paint It Black" universe here in fanfiction. There's currently three books, the third in progress. First: Paint it Black, Second: Silent Night, Third: Riders in the Sky. Find her stories in my favorites or her penname QueenofCrystallopia in my favorite authors!

And she just posted a new chapter in "Riders in the Sky"! Seriously! She's on fire. Check it out.

* * *

 **PERSONAL REVIEWER REPLIES!**

* * *

GarnetMonsoon: It's terrible of me but I am truly enjoying getting Peter Parker into more and more shit... lol XD Thank you for your review!

purpleflame2: OMG, you and your sister read this to each other?! This makes me SO happy! I am so glad you fangirl! I fangirl while I write it, haha!

NursingStudent: Dr. Strange can communicate with the other doctors, for the most part, he chooses not to, except when accidents occur. Only communicating so far as Peter is able to communicate with other characters in the universe he steps into. Dr. Strange can't access the life he died from, same as Peter. I love your thoughtful questions! There will be more revealed about Dr. Strange's activities in the next chapter.

silver-roses12: Peter was originally trying to gather all the stones, but realized he hadn't really thought of them as anything more than a checklist in his brain. When Vision sadly asks him if he's going to try and take the Mind Stone from him (essentially killing him), Peter realizes that he would never, ever dream of trying to kill Vision to obtain it, hence he will just have to make do with "some" of the infinity stones. Not all of them. He keeps changing his goals because the universes he is in are never quite up to expectations. The circumstances keep altering his plan :) Thank you so much for your thoughtful review!

TeamCaptain2016: OMG you staying up SO late to read the next chapter? It's so frickin' sweet of you! Wow! Thank you!

AppleSpongeCake: LOL I hope you aren't too tired from all that screeching! haha! Updated for you my dear! I hope you enjoyed :)

Guest: Thank you thank you thank you for your kind words. Wow. I'm so blessed by your review. Thank you.

Modern Demigod Hero: Ugh I know it was so long and this one was SO short! I hated ending it so quickly but I have everything so carefully outlined it would be impossible so make it any longer lol. I really prefer giving you guys a LOT of content to peruse :)

ParadoxicOrder8: Thank you so much! I am glad you enjoyed it!

gammathetaalpha: LOL, mess is right! Peter is causing messes everywhere! And it's going to get EVEN WORSE! :D Thanks for your review!

cargumentluv: Definitely bad, but with good intentions! lol! Thanks for your review!

EleanorGardner: LOL don't worry about it. I'm just so pleased you read my story and enjoyed it enough to review at all! Thank you for taking the time! Your review was wonderful! Thanks again!


	14. Part V: Time - The Upside Down

PART FIVE - TIME

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Chapter Fourteen

 _The Upside Down_

* * *

…

…

It's a plane crash.

In the middle of the forest.

I feel as if someone punched my gut so hard I double over, half leaning, clutching my gut as I rush crookedly to the scene. It looks like a movie set - the plane is smaller, a charter, the top of it completely blown off, revealing the seats inside inside tipped at an awful angle. There's a body partially on fire, half of it missing in a splash of blood and gore, leaning halfway out of the broken windshield in the cockpit. There's a branch right through the sternum of whomever the pilot used to be.

I look quickly away, ducking under a broken wing, looking near the landing gear where the biggest source of the smoke is. Dark plumes of it, gray and thick, convulse out of the openings where the wheels should have come out.

I see a hand sticking out of part of the wreckage. A man's hand, fingers curled loosely and unmoving underneath a broad section of the wing. The hand is wearing a ring, charred by smoke. But I recognize the ring.

That's my dad's wedding ring.

I've never seen it on him, but, after they died, it was left to Uncle Ben. Uncle Ben wore it on his right hand. Though his hands were bigger than my Dad's, so he could barely make it over the knuckle of his pinky finger.

I recognize the ring from Uncle Ben. The fingers are strangers.

"Oh, god," I say out loud.

This is my parent's final resting place - the plane crash that killed them. One of the reasons I never went on a plane till I accidentally signed up to go to Germany.

I stumble towards the wreckage, but a blast of heat from the cockpit forces me to take a step back. Shimmering, transparent waves of heat are rolling off the twisted metal.

"Dad?" I call. My throat gives out, and I try again. "Dad? Mom! MOM! DAD!" My voice grows more hysterical the louder I try to get. "MOM! MOMMY! MOMMYYYYY."

My spider-senses are absolutely dulled. There's no life here. No beating hearts. Everyone in this crash is dead. I'd be able to sense it if they weren't. And what if they hadn't been? Would I save them? Reverse the history of a different Peter Parker in a different universe who was as unlucky as I to be orphaned at a young age? Would I be doing him a favor instead of helping him?

And what if Dr. Strange is wrong, after all? What if none of this - literally, none of it - is real? What if each door presents just another hallucination as vivid as a reality?

The red stone in my satchel seems to protest, as if I'd offended it. It grows hot again, a small, thumping beat inside, like a heartbeat.

I open the bag, lifting it out. I hold it loosely in my palm, the heat intermittent against the palm of the glove-part of my suit.

I don't want to relive my parent's death. I wasn't there when it happened. I shouldn't be there now.

Take me home, I think.

I open my eyes on a crowded street.

Uh.

Huh.

Nope.

Um.

This isn't home.

Still shocked at the sight of… well, the thing that killed my parents…

I wobble in place, turning in a confused circle and looking at the street. Not so much a city street as it is just a service road for drop offs and pick-ups in front of glass doors. A sort of atrium building behind it.

Suitcases and backpacks everywhere. Literally everyone here looks like they're on their way home from somewhere else.

I catch a voice over a PA system.

Oh, airport.

Okay… Not home.

I'm confused.

"You know," I say to the cylinder in my hand. "Last time I checked, I didn't live in an airport."

I would imagine the red stone could understand sarcasm. It's supposed to be symbiotic, after all.

I glance around, people jostling against me, muttering apologies. I trip over someone's rolling suitcase and leap over onto the sidewalk to avoid falling over it. Cars and taxis roll by.

I look across the street at the glass doors, long lines of people coming and going, people pushing through with bags too big for small spaces. It takes me a moment to realize I'm staring at… me.

"Oh what NOW?" I exclaim, exasperated. Did I just cross into the past of myself again?

I'm watching myself, but it doesn't look like my younger self. Not like the one in the wonky universe with the Mean Tony and Friendless Vision and a royally pissed off Strange.

It looks - well, like me. The real me. Wearing clothes I could see myself in. T-shirt, jacket.

Come to think of it, the air smells different here. Not like the woods. The Sanctum. The Avengers compound upstate. Even the morning in Queens on my very first venture through a white door. This entire atmosphere makes me feel more alive than I have since…

Well, since the dustpocalypse.

In fact, I don't see any white doors anywhere. Nothing. There wasn't any in the woods, but nothing formed in the partial door still left on the plane, either. I was distracted at the thought of finding my parent's bodies and didn't bother to look for one.

Maybe I don't need the white doors now. Maybe the red stone is helping me cross into all the different door-universes without having to revisit the doorchard. Maybe that's the common denominator, not me. So basically I've found a way to skip those damn doors. That could be good - right?

"MAY!" my voice yells.

I stare in shock, watching me - myself - another me - running down the sidewalk several feet. Me - I mean, he - launches himself into the waiting arms of Aunt May. Whom I didn't notice was standing like a thin reed, lost in the crowd.

She looks horrifically anxious and wraps her arms around me and shuts her eyes and… I'm a little taller than her, I think. So maybe about the same age.

Weird.

Why was I traveling? Was I coming or going? I mean, what was she doing there? Why did it look like she wasn't just there to pick me up after a school trip?

Maybe it was a school trip that I screwed up just like the D.C. trip. Maybe she saw something on the news that made her think, oh, gee, I sure hope Peter gets back from this school trip NOT in a body bag.

I wouldn't mind seeing what made her so worried…

AND NOW IT'S DARK.

Whoa.

"Hey! Hello! What is HAPPENING!"

The pitch-blackness was just my eyes adjusting. I'm not blind but it's nighttime now. Late evening. I'm no longer at the airport, but I'm still standing in a crowd…

What the hell?

Glittering lights are everywhere. But not like, Christmas lights. Fair-lights. Lining a carousel, a ferris wheel, a stage with dancing performers. It's still crowded, a little chillier, and definitely nightfall on some picturesque town that still hosts old fashioned fairs that look sort of medieval.

It's… it's cool. Like something I wouldn't mind seeing, really. But why for the love of all things infinity did I end up here?

Suddenly, a woman screams.

Then someone else screams too.

Then all together, hundreds of screams erupt.

Crowds of people are suddenly pushing and clawing and streaming past me, trying to get out of the fair grounds. Oh shit.

More people are plowing right into me. I struggle to maintain moving against the crowd, walking the opposite way, people full-body slamming into me as I try to make my way towards whatever danger it is.

Need… to… get … to… the… danger!

I think about using some of my web fluid… which is down to almost nothing… to get up to the top of the ferris wheel. I glance up, the push of the crowd still hitting me. I feel my stomach drop with surprise and dread.

There's someone already up there, perched in the rungs of one of the higher points on the wheel, crouched like a bug and gripping one of the bars.

It looks like me. Kind of. It's a spider-suit, I think. But too dark. Maybe black.

"Oh, shit," I whisper.

Shit shit shit shit shit…

The person who might be me is perched on the ferris wheel, pausing, looking down on the grounds. The suit certainly looks like a suit. Maybe it's just a new setting on the suit. Maybe it's like… stealth mode! Turning the suit black for extra night-protection!

Hopefully not some horrible incarnation of Venom stealing my look and terrorizing these innocent people?

"What freaking TIME is this?" I erupt angrily, but my voice is totally drowned out by screams. Just stop playing with this and be Spider-Man, I think angrily. Angry with myself for letting things get weird. I should be getting this stone back to Dr. Strange, groveling in my apologies, and instead I'm sending myself across the universe like a really screwed up pinball machine.

I feel like I'm standing in a wind tunnel now with lights blaring and bleeding past me in fast forward. I realize too late that I'm turning over and over like I'm somersaulting in the air, as if someone threw me off a cliff. The problem not knowing which way is up or down. Right or left. No direction whatsoever.

The stones in my bag are on fire. Literal fire - or - purple 's purple flames without heat licking the air around me as I stumble forward, landing on my face on a crumbled cement floor.

I lift my head blearily and look around.

Tony Stark stares down at me, his face white as a sheet like he's going to faint.

"Hey!" I chirp awkwardly.

Tony Stark falls backwards, tries to sit into a chair, misses the chair, and falls to the floor on his ass. His mouth his working like he's trying to think of something to say.

"You died," he gasps. "You died. Peter."

"What?" I exclaim happily. I finally get a bearing on my surroundings. This is weird… this is just a normal Stark-like workplace. Clean lines, clear work stations, lots of machinery everywhere like something an engineer would have… Did I do it? Did I finally make it back to the timeline I left? Did I make it post Thanos?

"You, you, you," Stark keeps gasping. He puts a hand to where, I think, his arc reactor should be glowing through his shirt. "The building. Came down. On top… of you…"

I blink. "Which BUILDING?"

"The Vulture," Stark slowly reaches forward as if he's going to try to touch my arm, but thinks better of it. "He brought the cement pillars down on top of you and you. You. You suffocated."

I blink. "Wait - you mean homecoming night?"

Tony Stark just continues to stare at me, his brown eyes nearly bloodshot, eyebrows furrowed like he's trying to read tiny print with no glasses.

"No I didn't. I was stuck for awhile," I say, "But I pushed the pillars off. I got out. I defeated Vulture and…" I tilt my head at him, suddenly realizing I'm still lying on the floor like I tripped and fell face-first. I scramble to my feet, pushing myself up and clutching the bag at my side, now totally devoid of heat nor weird purple flames. "He got the plane, didn't he?" I ask.

"Hijacked it on Moving Day," Stark whispers. "But you - you had tried to warn me. And Happy. You tried to stop him. And you died. You died. The funeral. We… we… your Aunt. Oh, Jesus Christ, your aunt - she thinks you're dead." He pushes himself back into the chair, and with great effort, gets to his feet. "No - you are dead." He pinches his nose, shuts his eyes, looks away. "You're dead, you're a ghost. I finally did it. I finally figured out how to drink so much that I hallucinate. I finally did it."

"I'm not a ghost!" I exclaim - and then I stop. "Oh, wait," I say. I may not have died from the Vulture bringing that building on top of me, but Thanos definitely got me. "Oh… I am dead," I say sadly, leaning back against the wall heavily. "You're right," I say slowly "I'm dead. I died. Shit. This is weird, then."

Tony Stark curses loudly, blinks, turns away, and stomps a few feet to the left, and then right. Then he whirls on me. "Are you - are you," he tries to formulate a question. "Are you messing with me. You didn't really die. You just… faked it all. You're pulling a Tom."

"What's 'pulling a Tom'?"

"Tom Sawyer?" Mr. Stark exclaims. "Attends his own funeral? Didn't you have to read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer in high school?"

"Oh. No. It got banned for racism against Native Americans. They made us read the Three Musketeers instead."

Mr. Stark blinks. "Holy shit. It's definitely you. Because only Peter Parker would get distracted by telling me what books he's studying at school."

"You brought it up first," I pout.

He points his finger at me. "Don't get coy with me. You're - you're…" He crumbles. "Jesus Christ, Peter. How are you here? WHY are you here?"

I don't know what to say. "I wish there was a simple answer. Ghost of Christmas past, maybe?"

"Can we please - please stop with AP Sophomore English." Mr. Stark looks like he's in physical pain. He very carefully takes me by the shoulders, and he's shocked to find that his hands don't pass through them. When they don't, he looks at his knuckles, back at my face, and back down. He pulls me in for a fierce hug, and then pushes me back. "If you are dead, then how are you here? Where were you before?"

"So there's like this big white afterlife full of alternative universes and I've been stuck in it trying to figure out how to come back and undo my death," I say shortly. "But as it turns out, it can't be done."

"Alternative universes?" Mr. Stark repeats.

"Right," I say eagerly. "I'm trying to figure out how to get back to the one I just left, actually, with Dr. Strange. I want to go back."

Suddenly, my vision goes totally wonky, as if I just changed a filter on the lenses of my eyes to "negative". What's light is now a muted, pond-scum dark, and what should be dark is now sickly, alien white.

Oh shit.

I shouldn't have save that. The stones have been acting and reacting with every mild thought. Surely it can react to conversation, too.

They are a chemical reaction that should not be allowed to happen anymore.

"What's happening," Mr. Stark asks in a panicked voice. "You're fading."

"I'm time traveling," I try to respond, but my throat hurts. Not from anything else except for me trying not to cry. Again. I'm really sick of crying all the time.

"You're literally fading, like a ghost," Mr. Stark adds urgently. "Just - just tell me that you're okay. Wherever you went. Please. I can't… I can't handle the thought of you… you…"

"I'm fine," I say quickly. "Don't worry about me, Mr. Stark. I'm… I'm having fun in the afterlife." It's a total lie, but I want him to be okay after I go. It's only fair to this version of Mr. Stark. Even if I can't say it to the one I wish I could.

"Jesus, kid," Mr. Stark is trying not to actually lose his shit in front of me.

"I didn't suffer!" I say, also a total lie. It hurt like hell turning to dust. My spider-senses and super-healing fought it off for as long as it could, making it last longer than it should have. Each moment was horrible agony. I'm sure it felt the same for this Peter dying under the building.

While some universes seem to be created just for me to step into and enjoy with no feasible consequence (such as a younger me), and while some universes have another Peter already that I'm screwing up by appearing, I will not understand. Maybe I'm not supposed to.

Maybe the whole point of the afterlife is to find your correct universe for starting over, leaving all the others - some empty, and some with various incarnations of oneself - to fade away.

"Don't worry!" I say urgently, the light growing brighter and brighter. "I'm okay where I am. I didn't suffer. I'm right where I'm supposed to be. There's an afterlife and it's just fine. You'll be fine!"

Mr. Stark looks like he's growing smaller, as if he's at the end of a tunnel, and I'm slowly being withdrawn out of it - further and further back towards an entrance. "Peter!" he calls, despondent.

I'm standing in the plaza somewhere near that fair again. I think there is a carousel that's grinding to a halt, and running, screaming people are still fleeing down the streets, some distance away. Something flies past me, and I find myself ducking to avoid getting clobbered in the head. I can't tell if that was a piece of wood from a nearby explosion, or someone in costume. Wouldn't I be fighting another villain in costume? Isn't that the vicious cycle of vigilantism?

I try to spot anything that can tell me about where I ended up.

Suddenly I'm looking at myself down on the ground, not perched on the ferris wheel thing like before. It's me again - Spider-Man - and I'm definitely in a black suit. Where the heck do I get a black suit? There's rubble on fire on the ground around me.

I watch me - him, or, whatever - lying facedown on the ground.

Oh shit. Do I DIE here, too?

I brace myself on my elbows, struggling to my feet, finally pushing myself into a standing position, shifting to avoid incoming, throwing out my hands and streaming web in the other direction. Once they attach, I yank my arms back, and then -

I was trying to move out of the way, watching myself in action, as if having an out-of-body experience. In doing so I had run straight into the wall of one of the booths set up.

I'm sure this was a nice fair before everything went wrong. Not sure if it was the kind that sells things or one of those artizan, renaissance kinds. Everything is messed up, emptied, or on fire now. And I just slammed, nose-first, into one of the striped panels.

"Good grief," I lean back, rubbing my nose.

I hear my own voice call out to whomever I'm fighting. Probably making some stupid remark to egg them on. Why do I DO that? It doesn't seem like a good idea? But I never stop and don't plan to anyway?

I stop moving, take a deep breath, and let my eyes drift shut. I open my satchel and feel the cylinder and the orb without opening my eyes. I know they are there. I can feel heat pouring off them - but also something new. A sort of quaver, like they are acknowledging my power over them. Yes, they are two infinity stones. And yes they are the most power things in the world. But they are in containers that I, Peter Parker, can pick up and USE if I so choose to.

And I DO choose to. I'm not a victim, here. I brought this upon myself.

I can do this.

I can wield them, to undo all of this.

"Take me to the correct time and place to find the SAME Dr. Strange that I stole you from," I command in a firm voice. Then I grasp them both in my fists, not bothering to grasp the pendent around my neck. It responds to me anyway. I can feel the green, flickering powers beating on my chest like an extra heartbeat.

I open my eyes.

There's a blinking shudder, as if I am staring through a camera lens with a low frame rate per minute, like in horror movies when something moves in a jolty way towards the camera. The last few frames always skip too much. When the person is finally too close to the camera after skipping the last few frames at a higher speed, the jumpscare makes my heart jump through my throat. I never forgave Ned for sneaking us to a horror movie back in middle school. I don't do scary movies. Never liked them much.

Ned wanted to do it on a dare, since he doesn't really like them either.

The fair had blinked itself away in fading images, until I was staring at a landscape like something out of a history book from the Great Depression. Specifically from the whole dust-bowl part of it. Everything has a sort of sad gray and brown sheen to it, as if no one bothered to plant anything in this century.

I couldn't even guess what century this is. Only that the desolation looks post-apocalyptic. Some buildings are crumbled and gray with smoke-stains, the streets are mostly dirt over broken pavement, and the silence between overturned cars and collapsed structures are palpable. It looks like something out of the Wizard of Oz before it goes into technicolor.

It's not entirely devoid of life, though. People shrug along in lines, carrying backpacks. Some going into homes. Some heading for a factory in the distance, spitting black smoke into the low sky made entirely of muddy smog. Some sit against empty doorways, hands held out to beg.

I straighten and try to walk determinedly towards a small cart. There's a broken wheel, so it leans haphazardly against a partially-collapsed brick wall. The small awning above it is red-and-white-striped, and a sign nailed to the posts say "MUTANT CIRCUS" with an arrow pointing between two buildings, to an open area beyond them.

It probably used to be a park of some kind, but now it just looks like a long, flat desert, or a football field made of sand instead of turf. Tan expanse in every direction, a few dead scrub trees that provide no shade from the muted sun, bleeding dark orange through the hazy sky.

There's three circus tents standing up, door-flaps tapping idly in a humid wind. There's consumers slowly milling from tent to tent, chattering amongst themselves, but never quite as loud or happy as normal circus-attendees should be. They just mutter and comment in mumbles, the crowd less than impressive.

I go straight to a small sign above a red seat beneath an open canopy.

MAGICAL DOCTOR, the sign says. Bingo.

I walk around the sign and stop short at the sight of Dr. Strange sitting under the canopy.

He's making balloon animals. Taking a small pump, filling up the long, snake-like balloon, tying off the end expertly, and then twisting and manipulating it into animal-shapes. Two small twists to the length make small bubbles, and then those bubbles are twisted together, until suddenly there are two ears. Then the end of the balloon becomes the nose. The rest of the legs and tail fill out the rest.

When it's done, he hands it to a child waiting with her parents.

"Here you go," he says in that droll, bored tone.

The child accepts the balloon-dog. "Thank you," she says.

Her father tugs sharply on her hand. "Don't thank him," he says sternly. "He's one of them."

The little girl looks confused. "He made me a puppy."

Dr. Strange nearly smiles, but seems to swallow back any emotion. I notice the collar, now. A thick, black, metallic collar around his neck with a blinking red light.

"He's got one of those anti-mutant-power things," says the dad.

"It's a dampening collar," corrects the wife, in a cold voice. "It cuts off his ability to use his powers."

"I'm not a mutant," Dr. Strange sighs, sarcasm bleeding through. "I'm a doctor. This collar does nothing except keep me sitting here on this stool."

"Wish the Rising Tide could find the kill switch that makes each one of those damn collars tighten," the woman snaps. "But it's not a perfect world, is it."

Silence. I observe quietly, peering around the sign. No one notices me. To them I'm just a dirty kid that blends in with all the rest of the dirty kids. My suit looking more and more ragged, burnt, and torn.

And still nothing.

"Was that a question?" Dr. Strange finally asks, definite sarcasm coming out this time.

"The whole world forgets," the man says strangely. "The whole world forgot what is was like. In his House. Before the white light," he leans down to Dr. Strange's face. "Some of us know, however. Some of us remember. Being treated like slaves. Murdered for his pleasure. The Witch that played with us like dolls."

Dr. Strange looks away. "I have nothing to do with Magneto and his children."

"Come, Art," says the woman. "Stop wasting your time. It won't change anything."

The man quickly pulls his child away, and the woman shoots him a deathly glare before they disappear around the corner.

I take a deep breath for courage.

"Whomever you are, you can come out, now," Dr. Strange says with annoyance.

I step out from behind the sign.

Dr. Strange's expression is truly surprised. "You," he spits out. "You - you - you took - you've ruined - no, no…" he pauses, shakes his head. "That would have happened any way - you - what the HELL are you doing back here?"

"I came back to try and… wait, how long have I been gone?" I ask confusedly.

"Six weeks, maybe more?" Dr. Strange says. "Maybe years - but I have not been able to retain the memories of the mind-altering shit that Scarlet Witch has been conducting lately."

"Scarlet Witch? Really?"

"Not the Wanda Maximoff you've heard of," he says mysteriously. "Just the Witch."

I shake my head. "So she is messing with universes and timelines."

"Not like you," Dr. Strange growls. "You should have listened to me. In the Sanctum. You were confused. There were too many of me traveling from earlier timelines that ran into you all at once. It was a mistake. If you had just waited, they would have faded away, bringing us to just one - just me - in the present."

"Looks like a lot happened in six weeks," I say slowly. "What is all this?"

Dr. Strange looks like he wants to kill me. "This is an afterthought. Recompense for the House of M. In other worlds, sometimes they win, sometimes they lose. Sometimes even in the worlds they lose in - the cost of letting the humans take power again is more than the mutants can stand."

"What are mutants?" I ask.

"Nothing you would understand," Dr. Strange respond bitterly. "But if they think you are one, they take you and put you in a dog-collar to keep you tame. As it turns out, it does affect Mutates as well."

"Mutates?"

"People like you and me," Dr. Strange shakes his head. "I don't have time to explain yet another alternative universe to someone ignorant and immaturely incapable of handling such information."

"But they put a collar on you and others," I push. "And then what?"

"And force you to work in demeaning circumstances." He chucks the pump over his shoulder. I notice his wrists are bound with metal cuffs, but loosely, so there is some room for him to move his hands and still easily make these stupid colorful animals, the only bright things in this dismally gray world.

The pump hits the ground with a dusty puff.

"I'm so sorry," I say pleadingly. "Will you ever forgive me?"

Dr. Strange simply stares at me, anger radiating from him in waves.

I take the Eye off of my neck, and slowly drop it down over his. The green time stone seems to pulse with his anger, and Dr. Strange looks at the pendent around his neck, and then back at me, his expression unreadable.

"I am so, so sorry," I say urgently. "I know I can't fix this. I've tried. I don't know how to use it and I keep ruining everything."

"I should think so," Dr. Strange says coldly.

I nod. "Please… if you can. Fix it. That's what I came back to do. Honestly I've been trying. I knew it was wrong as soon as I left and I've been trying to come back to make it right."

"Oh, and what do you propose I do to help you undo your mistake?" Dr. Strange asks. "You know my - magic - is suppressed by this."

"If you can time travel it doesn't matter," I urge. "Just… go back to a time when you're not wearing it."

"That is the obvious answer," Dr. Strange rolls his eyes. "But what do you propose I do with you? Are you suggesting I LEAVE you here?"

"No," I say in a small voice. "Please don't leave me here. Take it all back. Take us back to the moment in the Sanctum. I probably won't remember this, but when I walk in the room to steal the stone, just hit me in the head as hard as you can. Don't make a grand entrance and don't let me hear you before my spider-senses react. I won't suspect it at all."

Dr. Strange seems to relent in his severity. Just a little.

"Very well," he says firmly.

Then the world turns green, splintering into a weird, choking pain, like a charlie-horse in each limb and a case of strep throat.

I put one hand on the wall, followed by another, then another. It's nice to be climbing by my own strength, my own powers again. Elbows and knees scuffing the brick, I go hand over hand, passing windows and floors till I'm over the third. Hopping the edge, I stand in the roof and gain my bearings. I won't have to break in through the front door or window, I can just go right in through the green hued, pyramid-shaped skylight.

I slip out of the saggy pants of the borrowed (okay, stolen) Xandarian uniform and shrug out of the jacket, lying them on the rooftop beside me. Just me and the ol' red and blue once more. It's significantly more comfortable without all the extra layers.

I dash over to the skylight and squeeze one of the hinges, bending it out of use and twisting the old, rusted metal right off. I flip open the pane and slowly let it down so it doesn't shatter.

Bracing one hand on either side of the frame, I drop my feet down inside, and let go.

It's a short fall to a floor of dark cherry wood, polished and antique. I land with a barely discernible thump in a crouch, taking stock of my surroundings.

I feel like I just landed in the panorama displays of the Museum of Natural History. Everywhere around me, there are clear glass cases containing incredible relics that I couldn't possibly imagine - tools, weapons, even things to wear, like armor and ancient uniforms.

I instantly stand with a look of awe. There's so many of them, sprinkled throughout the room beneath a low ceiling, lit by warm, golden hues from the sun slanting in sideways from circular windows. Ahead, there's a few openings in the walls leading into different hallways (no doors, interdimensional or otherwise), and further across the large room, there's a dark bannister indicating the head of a large stairwell.

"Whoa," I whisper, slipping the bag off my shoulder. I glance into one of the display cases closest to me, where there is a large outfit on a small human sculpture. It looks sort of like a set of armor that a samurai might wear, a lot of metal layers, mostly triangle, and a pointed helmet on top. There's a lot of intricacies to the design, tiny bolts and carvings on every corner.

I press the glass near the seam till the tiny brass hook gives, and with a quiet pop, like a cork from a wine bottle, the glass door pops open. I slowly set my bag inside, hanging it over the sculpture's arm as if it was supposed to be holding a Xandarian satchel in the first place.

Then I slowly close the case again. It should be safe in there. If you can't trust some sort of magical suit of armor to hold a few infinity stones in a magical home for a magical doctor, who can you trust?

My spider-senses tingle. And I get a major sense of deja-vu.

Wait a second.

Didn't I do this already?

I hear something in the wall behind me. Not by the wall. In the wall. Vision is making is entrance just a little too early I think. I turn to whisper to him, something like, too early, Vision… let me try first…

When something catches my eye -

Dr. Strange is floating - no, leering over me, the magic carpet cape thing making him hover above me like a ghost. He has something gripped in his hand, the blunt-end pommel of a sword from one of the displays, his fist drives down...

...hits me right in the back of the...

…

...

* * *

...

* * *

Coming Next:

Dr. Strange is undeniably pissed. Peter struggles with the whole time-traveling memory issue, and realizes he needs to give up the stones for good.

* * *

Special Thanks #1

Thank you AppleSpongeCake for the prompt on an AU universe where Peter died beneath the building during Homecoming. It was a fun exercise and I was able to sneak it in, and it fit with my universe perfectly! AppleSpongeCake requested this waaay back after chapter nine! Thanks again for the great suggestion, I had some fun with it!

* * *

Special Thanks #2

My beta Crystal! To whom this gift fic is for. She is just KILLING me with her writing right now, it's SO good. And she inspires me so much to write through areas that give me trouble and I otherwise procrastinate on because I feel intimidated.

This chapter contained her crazy and hilarious birthday request number 4 - having Dr. Strange make balloon animals! That concludes all of her requests!

Please be sure to check out her "Paint It Black" universe here in fanfiction. There's currently three books, the third in progress. First: Paint it Black, Second: Silent Night, Third: Riders in the Sky. Find her stories in my favorites or her penname QueenofCrystallopia in my favorite authors!

Be sure to be on the look out for the next upcoming chapters in Riders in the Sky. You won't want to miss how EPIC they are.

* * *

 **PERSONAL REVIEWER REPLIES!**

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Lovinlifehard: Sort of, hahaha... ;)

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UnnamedBro: Thank you for your kind words! Wow! I'm just so touched.

QueenKarin13: I thought about doing something like that just to mess with everyone and eventually decided maybe it was a little too meta lol

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curry-llama: I love your penname btw. Thanks for your amazing review, these encouraging words give me life! Thank you!

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AppleSpongeCake: (sending hugs) Hopefully including your prompt helped with the whole sucker punch thing lol

Guest: ugh I would LOVE for that to happen too, unfortunately it just won't work for this story. X-Men references are really as far as I go when it comes to breaking the MCU canon. Miles would be amazing but I just don't have a "space" for him.

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	15. Part V: Time - Screw the Afterlife

PART FIVE - TIME

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Chapter Fifteen

 _Screw the Afterlife_

* * *

…

…

The world tilts from side to side. I feel like I'm lying on a dock at high tide, the waters pulsing underneath the boards, slashing at the posts.

Rocking from side to side.

I think I'm seasick.

"The boy isn't lying about alternative universes with multiple doppelgangers," Vision's voice bleeds into my subconscious.

"No, he's not."

"I hesitate to leave him here; even in your capable hands."

"Vision," Dr. Strange answers, "I know you can't see it, but the boy has his very own exit out of this universe. A white door…"

"Appears to guide him back, at least this much I know," Vision says. "You mean to say there is one here, and invisible to us?"

"More or less."

"And you intend on forcing his return," Vision implies.

"Absolutely. He may have caused irreversible damage to the universe - maybe even more than one universe. I'm benching him."

"Benching?"

"It's a… sports term."

"Ah, I see. A player benched during play."

"Yes."

"Still," Vision pauses, and I feel his gaze turn towards me. I shift slightly, trying to wake myself up. "The dimension that he came from seems a cruel place indeed. I feel badly for him."

"It won't matter much if Tony Stark saves us all and reverses what Thanos has done," Dr. Strange says, a slight tremble in his otherwise confident, abrasive tone. "But it won't matter if we're not in the correct place." There's a shuffle of fabric. That freaky cape suddenly touches my face, and I force my eyelids open.

"Ugh," I moan, batting my hand slightly. I slap a wad of red fabric away, and it bats me right back. A painless smack in the cheek.

Dr. Strange glances behind him, shifting away so that his cape no longer has any reach. We're in his study - the nice one with the fireplace, the one I tripped through three or four times while time traveling. I'm laying on the couch.

Wait… how do I remember that?

"Good, you're awake," Dr. Strange says crisply.

I pass a hand over my eyes. "Yeah, I'm awake."

"How are you feeling?"

"I have a headache." I squeeze my eyes shut again. Then I open just one, squinting at him. "You hit me."

"You're probably wondering why you remember any of it."

"I am," I say confusedly, bracing myself on my elbows. The world keeps rocking, but a little less. I look down at my chest. I'm not wearing the Eye anymore.

In fact, Dr. Strange isn't either.

"Here, drink some water," Vision sits on the couch across from me, indicating a full, clear glass on the table between us.

I pick it up and gulp a few times. Dr. Strange watches me with a clinical expression before looking satisfied that I'm going to be properly hydrated.

"The reality stone," he says at last. "You weren't traveling in time entirely. You were crossing into different realities, too. The powers combined created a raw, brute force of travel that you were too stupid and ignorant to control. Not that anyone really could, anyhow."

"I was crossing realities?" I ask confusedly.

"Indeed."

"Then my parents…" I stop. I shake my head and bury my mouth in the glass again.

Dr. Strange respectively doesn't push the issue. "A soul, like yourself, dead in another universe can travel from one dimension to another, spend some time organically in another reality, and then return to his void. You skipped your own portals, in a sense. The white doors are not just there to provide an escape from one reality. They are way to make sure you never truly leave the dimension of the afterlife."

"I stopped seeing white doors for awhile…"

"You were manipulating the reality stone into crafting something else. Something unnatural. Something that probably would have killed you if you kept it up for much longer. Destroying yourself in your own afterlife is just a second death. And then there is no waking up."

I feel sick to my stomach. "I didn't know."

Dr. Strange sighs. "I did not either," he admitted. "Not until you…"

"Until I what?"

"Until I went to the Sanctum, so spend some time. To meditate. I went specifically to a time when I knew an alternative doppelganger of myself would not be present, to avoid any uncomfortable conversations. And then you appeared. We fought. You punched me. And then I blinked and found myself in the white-dimension again, and immediately came to check on you. I realized - even without a time stone - I had managed to find you before you came to my Sanctum and fought me. I had my own part to play, I suppose. I did not wish to ruin anything further and I gave you the address."

"I thought Quill punched you."

"I didn't confirm or deny this. I let you think that. To let events unfold. I didn't not want to ruin it any further than you were already going to."

"So I accidentally moved you back and forth between realities."

"Every time I tried to travel to the Sanctum to stop you, I crossed my own timeline. That's why there were so many of me."

"I screwed it up so much," I groan, dropping back into the couch and hiding my face.

"You did more than screw it up. You were rewriting the fabric of my afterlife. Not yours. It's not just dangerous, or an affront to any kind of natural order keeping us here - but hugely invasive. Using both reality and time - perhaps even the orb contributed, giving additional powers where the universe may have been able to resist you. The universes were weakened by you. Maybe you would have destroyed them all, and those of us that perished with it."

"I get it now," I sigh. "I am so, so, so sorry…"

"When you disappeared, I thought maybe I had lost you permanently," Dr. Strange sighs. "Found myself in a post-apocalyptic future working in a circus. I could have escaped, but I chose to believe that it would be safer to remain in one place and let you find your way back."

"You really were in that circus thing for six weeks?"

"Not entirely. I could only guess I had been there for six weeks based on the confusing images in my head, but my true memories begin the same day you arrived. According to the other - ah - mutates and mutants trapped there as performers, they referred to me as the new guy and spoke of my arrival six weeks ago. But I have no recollection of it."

"If he used the stones to skip the white doors, as you say," Vision suddenly interjects, "Using the stone may have deposited you there directly, and manipulated your mind enough to give you the memories of being there longer."

"It's always possible," Dr. Strange sighs. He gives me a sharp glance. "Do you see now? Do you grasp in that small mind of yours how dangerous this all is?"

I slowly sit up and pull my legs in, sitting criss-cross on the couch. I feel chilled, and I hug my arms. "Yes."

"Will you stop this foolishness now?" Dr. Strange asks, a little more gently.

"Yes."

"Will you return the orb and the cylinder to their respective universes?"

"I don't know how…"

"It's not a question of how. If you have to open the door to the reality in which they belong and simply throw them through, and then shut the door behind you, that's good enough. As long as you no longer possess them. You can't use them anymore, Peter, do you understand?"

"Yes, yes. I promise, I do. Absolutely." I look up, blurry eyed and sick still. "Did you give the Eye back to the Dr. Strange in this universe? I'm not wearing it… and you're not wearing it."

"That's right." Dr. Strange looks down at my bag. "You crossed into one of my dimensions. As long as you still possess those, we can remain in here - together. But we should not any longer. We need to go through the white door again, and go back to our separate quarters."

Vision stands politely, walking around the coffee table. "I do not mean to make light of this, but I'll walk you to the door. Even if I can't see it." He holds out a hand to me. "Let me help you up."

I accept his hand and he hoists me up way too quickly.

I sway for a moment and brace my hands outwards as if I felt an earthquake. I remember before - way too long ago - when I was fighting Black Widow, and I asked her not to knock me out. I was so worried I wouldn't wake up. And then, I was practically begging Dr. Strange to undo all the horrible stuff I've done by hitting me hard enough to definitely knock me unconscious. I wasn't as worried about not waking up as I was making sure nothing else bad happened that I was responsible for. If I hadn't woken up, then… that wouldn't have been his fault. That would be just… collateral damage.

"You're all right?" Vision asks.

Dr. Strange sweeps out the wide open space from the parlor and into the entry, not bothering to see if we're catching up.

"Yeah, yeeaah, sure, I'm good, I'm good," I give Vision a bullshitting smile. "Much better now."

I keep thinking about the airport.

It had felt so different than every reality I traveled to. I assumed it was because I was skipping the white doors. I even thought maybe that was a good thing - as ignorant as I was, at the time. But I had felt like, for the first time, I was stepping into something real. Not a vivid dream, not a hallucination, not a really elaborate stage play with really good special effects, or a Star Trek holodeck. The air felt more tangible than anything I'd ever felt - like stepping out of the recycled air of a shopping mall to a clear winter day on a beach.

Did I cross into the reality I had died from? Was I coming home to Aunt May because Tony Stark saved us all, and we defeated Thanos in like… Russia or something? Or maybe not Russia, maybe like… India! Or Wakanda!

Maybe Scotland! Venice!

I never got to really travel outside of New York. D.C. field trips don't count. Space doesn't count… especially traveling up to space for the first time and immediately dying on a dead planet. Definitely not joining the postcards up on a bulletin board.

A gentle hand rests on my shoulder. "Everything is going to be all right," Vision says kindly. "The Doctor explained as much as he could to me. I can see you will be in capable hands. Both of you will be returned safely into your afterlife to await the undoing of the terrible things that befell you. I'm sure of it."

I give him a genuine smile. "Thanks… really. Vision. That's… that's nice." Dr. Strange stops for a moment in the entry, gives me a look, and passes through the wide opening into the room on the other side.

"When you're ready, I guess," he says vaguely.

"Okay," I say quietly. I turn to Vision. "I wanted to ask you a favor. I know you don't exactly owe me anything, considering how much I've done to screw things up… which I'm really sorry for, by the way..."

Vision shakes his head. "You don't have to apologize. You must remember for me, I merely let you go up the wall while I waited in the alleyway, and then Dr. Strange appeared and told me he would need help containing you, preventing a fight before it happened. So I did. Not more than a half hour has passed."

"I guess you're lucky, then, that you don't have six weeks of an apocalyptic nightmare stuck in your head."

"I do not believe in luck, but nevertheless, I am grateful," Vision replies. "Now, how can I help you? What is the favor?"

"This universe. It's not like the others. In the others… well… everyone is more friendly. Like a really big family. I mean except for Captain America and Tony Stark getting in a huge argument and basically starting a war between factions of the Avengers but…"

Vision's lips movie as if containing laughter. He isn't taking me seriously.

"Besides that," I stutter. "Everyone has each other's backs. No matter what."

"You don't see that same camaraderie here," Vision infers.

"No, no, I don't. When I was, uh, traveling around, I met this Stark, and my aunt, and my best friend Ned, and Wanda…"

Vision stiffens. "You've met Wanda?"

"Yeah, she, uh, would have been way too happy to kill me."

"I see." Vision shakes his head.

"You know she's… I mean… she's not…" I struggle to say. "It was almost like she was…"

"Stark's own personal assassin."

"I guess so." I sigh. "Will you… will you keep an eye on little Peter? I mean, me? Like younger me? And Ned, and my Aunt. Ned and my Aunt… they're, uh, special to me, no matter who they are. Or where they are in the universe. Even if they're not the same ones. And younger me, I guess. It was more like meeting a little brother than it was meeting me. They're all so vulnerable."

"Vulnerable," Vision says slowly, "Especially to the Witch's powers."

"Stark's influence is… even more concerning," I whisper, ashamed. "I was wondering if, if something ever happens, if you would get them away. Get them out of town - I don't know. Hide them away if they need it."

Vision nods, putting his hands on my shoulders again. "I swear to you, young Parker. They will be under my protection. And gladly. It's no favor. I've been keeping an eye on young Parker from a distance anyhow, I will extend that watch to his family. You have my word. They won't come to any harm as long as I am living."

"Are you coming?" Dr. Strange calls out impatiently.

"I don't get how he's rushed when time is always his to command," I sigh. "Thanks, Vision."

"You're welcome." Vision smiles leads me into the next room.

It's like the parlor on the other side of the entry, but denser. Each wall is a bookshelf, with another door into a dining room. There's a large fireplace - I think I've been in this room before. Fighting with Dr. Strange. He used some of that weird portal magic to flicker through different rooms in the house, making me get more and more dizzy every time a new image popped up until I was sick with it.

What should be a door into a back hallway is that same, seamless white, glowing faintly like a kiosk in an Apple store. A mist leaks through the threshold, flooding the parlor a little.

I step away from the thin cloud rolling along the carpet.

"It won't do you any good to avoid it now," Dr. Strange says briskly.

"I don't have to like it," I respond.

"I wish you both safe… travels," Vision falters only a little. "I am sorry for what you have gone through. Both of you. I can only believe that all will come out all right."

I wonder if Vision comes out all right. Back on Earth. I don't remember seeing his stone in Thanos's gauntlet when we fought him - that means Vision was still okay.

He must have escaped, and that makes me feel relieved.

But I don't know what happened after I turned to dust - maybe Vision was next. But maybe no one on earth was affected? Maybe it was just us, on that god forsaken planet.

Not knowing might kill me faster than using these infinity stones without protection.

Dr. Strange opens the door. "We go together."

"Okay," I say slowly. I look over my shoulder at Vision.

"It's okay," Vision says quietly, almost so quiet he's practically mouthing the words - Dr. Strange doesn't hear him. "Go on."

"Okay," I whisper quietly, stepping into the white doorway besides Dr. Strange.

At his nod, we step over the threshold together, feet touching the nothing of the white, misting floor. It's bright and clean, and somehow familiar enough to feel… restful.

Like I can finally take a break. Maybe process things.

Dr. Strange shuts the door shut behind us before I can turn and look again.

Scrawled across the door in scratches, as if made with a knife blade, is the word Sanctum.

There's a heavy, waiting silence in the doorchard. Not a breath, not even a hint of life.

I glance around the endless, ethereal hall of white doors. One of them has another word scratched on it. Nepal.

"So we're in your dimension," I say, unable to keep the awe out of my voice. "I really did screw that up, didn't I?"

"Bygones," Dr. Strange says, kinder than I expected.

Another door says 1992.

And the next; 1995.

"Those are oddly specific," I point out. "What's the significance of those years?"

"I don't have the time to explain those to you," Dr. Strange mutters.

"Why do you always say that? We're dead! You have plenty of time to…"

"It isn't good to linger here in my dimension!" Dr. Strange roars at me. "Considering you forced yourself here by using an infinity stone! It's time to return to your own…"

"Doorchard," I mumble.

"What?"

"Doorchard. It's what I've been calling it."

At his raised eyebrows, I wiggle my hands to illustrate. "An orchard full of doors. A doorchard."

Dr. Strange looks, however briefly, like he might actually crack a smile. The corner of his mouth lifts very briefly. "Clever," he responds flatly, turning quickly away. "Now, please. Go away."

"Which door is mine?"

"Down at the end of the…" Dr. Strange sighs. "Count eight doors down, three columns over."

I find cough a little, and wiping at my nose. A bright smear of red blood comes away on the back of my hand.

I look at my knuckles with confusion, and look back at Dr. Strange. I feel something heavy and wet sliding down my upper lip. I quickly stuff my hand under my nose, preventing a nosebleed from leaking out all over the pure misty floors.

"What the hell," I mumble. I look at my hand again, convulsively wiping the blood away from my nose. It wasn't much, just a little. But why, I have no idea. I feel a soundless wind begin to push and tug at me, coming from all directions.

His eyebrows are furrowed disapprovingly in my direction. "You must get rid of the stones."

"Yeah," I say uneasily. "Definitely."

"Now."

"I know."

"I'll come check on you in awhile."

"How long is awhile?"

"I want to meditate, if that's alright with you," Dr. Strange snaps.

"You can admit you want a nap, if you want. I won't judge."

"If you don't go now, you'll get sucked back in."

"Okay, okay! I'm leaving!" I say hurriedly, following his directions down the line. My footsteps making no sounds, the endless white bright enough to need sunglasses. I count three over, and there's a door with my name scratched into it.

Peter.

The wind grows stronger, pulling me forward, till my hand pushes against the smooth surface.

I wonder what he used to scratch the names and dates in the doors. A cufflink on that fancy shirt? One of his like, three belts around his sash thing?

I thought my spider-man uniform was complicated. Dr. Strange looks like a Persian warlord in a fantasy steampunk video game set in the year four-thousand.

I push my door open, stepping into an identical white, endless dimension.

The door nearly slams behind me, a gust of wind ripping it out of my hand. I step aside and look at my own Sharpie scrawled words.

The One Where Dr. Strange Lives

Cool. Now what?

I look at the satchel at my side. Oh, right. The stones.

I go to the door I marked XANDAR VACATION.

Dr. Strange had returned the Eye to… well, another Dr. Strange. One of the several I saw in the hallway when I…

I don't even know what I did. At all. I don't get it.

I took both stones from this universe. My space adventure where I nearly died and Mr. Stark did chest compressions to get me breathing again and I finally met Bucky in a scenario where I wasn't fighting him in an airport. I got arrested and tricked into carrying a germ that wasn't a germ is a horrible awful slinky inky alien creature…

I shiver and tentatively open the door to the Xandar vacation. I don't know where it will open to. Space, glittering with stars in the absence of the ship's bathroom that I had left because Stark and Bucky had flown onward? Or maybe I would emerge on Xandar's surface again? Or maybe Knowhere, in that giant skull's head, just in time for the Collector to kill me for stealing his prized toys.

Turns out, none of the above.

I step out onto a yellowish white balcony, overlooking an old fashioned courtyard of stone.

There is a pleasant breeze, warming sunlight, and a small of clean, mountain air. The plaza below is surrounded on all sides by impressively tall buildings in the same sandstone, renaissance sort of open-air castle flair. I don't know if I'm looking at something Italian, Greek, maybe Egyptian…the mountain peaks I can barely see behind the buildings don't look like any of those, though. A tall peak at the center has an island-like feel. I can see the glittering of ocean waters between the furthermost alleyway, a long distance away but close enough to hear something like crashing waves or waterfalls.

I see a group of very well-dressed individuals walking in an organized group below. They're dressed in various styles of armor - some look like knights of England, others like samurai, some like Roman soldiers from old Biblical epics. Such a strange modge-podge of styles of warrior, all uniquely different but blending well together.

They look pretty… Asgardian, to be perfectly honest.

They're even walking in unison - marching, I guess.

Led by someone who kind of looks like…

Thor.

Holy shit its Thor.

I start waving my arms wildly. "Thor! Thor! Hey, Thor! Up here!"

He doesn't exactly react the way I expect him to. He glances up, and a huge frown takes over his unrealistically symmetrical face. He winds up his hammer in his fist like a twirling baton, and with a blast of hot air and dust, he sails out of his place among his troops like a rocket launched under his feet.

Blasting through the sky, moving not unlike Iron-Man, he plummets down beside me on the balcony, rattling the stones and shaking me in place. Instinctively, I back up towards the white door I came through, knowing full well that it probably looks like the entrance to some marbled hallway to him.

He stands over me, imposing and radiating with justifiable royal anger, his eyes flickering with surprise and confusion. He has long blond hair pulled back into a small pony tail, a huge red cape sweeping over one shoulder, and he stalks toward me with silver-booted feet.

He thrusts the hammer underneath my chin, pinning it against my neck.

"Who are you, Stranger?" he demands, his deep voice rich and threatening. "What are you doing on Asgard? How did you come in here undetected?

"Whoa! Hey! Hi! Um," I hold out my hands plaintively. "Hi! I'm Peter. Peter Parker. Uh. I'm a friend of Tony Stark."

He puts even more pressure on the hammer. "I do not suffer liars to trespass in my kingdom and…"

"I'm not lying! I'm a friend! I'm uh, uh, an Avenger! Like you! I brought something." He glowers, opening his mouth to probably yell at me more, but I add, "Please, please, I'm a friend. I mean no one any… harm."

His eyes flicker down to my bag, but he does not release any pressure on the hammer.

"What is your purpose here?" he repeats. "Speak."

"I have, have… have… infinity stones, I am supposed to entrust them to you," I spill out. "I accidentally took them from the Collector on Knowhere and you're the only one I know I can trust and so I have to give them back to you because Dr. Strange says I have to so I brought them as soon as I could!"

"Who is this Dr. Strange?"

"Another Avenger."

"I know nothing of him, nor you," he growls. "How am I to know that anything you say is the truth?"

"I have the infinity stones," I repeat.

"That is not possible."

"Well, not ALL of them. Some of them - just two. Here. In my bag."

He reluctantly pulls his arm back swiftly, and gestures to my bag with the hammer. "Open that. Now."

I open the back as quickly as possible, my hands shaking. I pull the orb and the cylinder out and hold each in my hand, and they instantly grow hot, and pulse slightly in my hand as if they have heartbeats. One faintly red, the other purple.

"Look," I say breathlessly. "I'm not lying."

Thor stares at them in shock, his mouth working over words he is debating about saying, his eyes softening a little with more worry than anger. He glances over his shoulder at the plaza below. "Put those back in the bag," he says in a low voice.

I obey as quickly as I can. "Done."

"You say you are a friend of Stark's?"

"I mean, yeah. We're friends. I work for him. I'm a new Avenger."

"My travels have kept me away from Earth, so I have heard nothing about new recruits of any kind. You understand that while my heart says you're too young to be an enemy, my experiences have taught me never to be too trusting at first glance."

"I totally get that," I reply earnestly. "Trust me. I get it. I want you to trust me, I'll do anything you need. I just have to get these infinity stones back to the Collector. Do you know who that is?"

Thor gives me such a look of condescending pity that I feel as if I'm lower than low.

"You will follow me to the throne room, we must speak with my father," he says firmly. "This is beyond me - only Odin should have the final say of what we do - and what we are to do with you in the meantime," he adds this as an afterthought.

"Am I a prisoner?" I ask in shock. "Really?"

"Not yet," he says crisply. "Now, keep that bag close. And do not disclose to anyone what you carry. Not now. I will tell you when you can show them to the king. Do you understand, friend of Stark?"

"Yes! Yes sir! Majesty. Your highness. Odinson. Um…"

Thor turns and beckons me to follow him. The balcony stretches the face of the ornate stone building, other arched doorways evenly spaced along the left.

I slip the bag over my head and slowly place it on the floor in front of me, making sure I keep the sharpie. I still want to keep that on me.

Then I take a few steps backwards, as silently as possible.

Thor immediately turns to make sure I am still following, and sees me step onto the threshold of my white door. He probably only sees me step under an archway.

His eyes flick down to the bag on the ground, and back at me, with confusion.

"I'm a ghost," I bawl loudly, my voice cracking and a rather hysterical laugh escaping my throat. "I'm just a ghost, I died, and I got stuck with these in my afterlife, and I had to bring them back to your world. This is as far as I go."

"What the hell do you speak of?" Thor looks imposing and threatening again, and he brandishes his hammer once more. His knuckles are dark red over the pommel. "You are no ghost."

I grasp the white door behind me and push it open. I feel the cool, white air at my back. "This is as far as I go," I repeat. "I just had to get them away from me."

"Whatever magic you are attempting to procure behind your back right now to disappear, I suggest you cease immediately," Thor demands. "Show me your hands. Now."

The door is already open behind me, so I show him my hands, and take another step back.

"STOP!" he says. "Not another step!" He has reached the satchel now. He scoops it up with his free hand. "Tell me what you mean by this," he suggests evenly. "I will be lenient."

I'm standing in the white mists now, looking out at a beautiful world which I'll probably never see. I wish it could have gone differently.

But Dr. Strange is right - the vacation is over. I'm getting too involved. I messed up his own afterlife and bumped him from timeline to timeline. I can't risk doing anything to anyone else.

Thor's eyes nearly bug out of his head. I'm not sure what he's seeing, but it can't be good. "What are you doing," he says slowly. "Stranger. Come out of that. That's - that's a path that leads to the void between dimensions. You'll be lost forever. Wandering the mists where the souls face an eternity of purgatory. What-have's and never-beens."

He slowly puts the hammer on the ground, to my utter shock. And then he extends a hand. "Come out of there, child," he says, and his voice sounds… sad. Tender, even. "There is no need for you to kill yourself. Come out."

I realize, to some extent, he can see the white door, and the fog pooling over my feet, swirling around my ankles - the endless expanse behind me.

Gotta say this for Asgardians - they really know their shit. He's the only one that didn't require additional explanations. He knows about this dominion.

"I'm already dead, Thor," I say firmly. "I'm not killing myself. I can't stay. I'm already dead."

"How came you by these?" he asks, gripping the bag in his hand. "Why do you bring them here?"

I shrug. "You're worthy? Isn't that what the stories say? Trustworthy, I guess. I had no idea what I would find here. I just came through the door."

"You may stay," he says urgently. "Come speak to my father. Perhaps with his far sight, he can…"

"Tempting," I whisper. "But I can't. Thanks, Thor. You're pretty cool. It was nice to finally meet you."

Just before I shut the door in his face, I hear a sharp cry of "WAIT!"

Click.

Thump.

I stumble back a little with surprise when the white door thumps under two beating fists. How on earth?!

Or… Asgard?!

I take another step back. The door remains solidly shut, and the sounds disappear. Then there's nothing but emptiness behind, beside, all around it. I believe - though I guess I'll never truly know - that from Thor's point of view, my white door simply faded away beneath his attempts to break it open. And now there was nothing but a bag of infinity stones in his hand. Now it's up to him and his warrior friends to drop it off wherever they're supposed to go. Just as it should be.

I feel a little bad for dumping the responsibility on him like that. But if anyone can handle it, it's him. And I can't hold onto them anymore, I'll just break something, someone, or sometime.

My spider-sense suddenly lets off a gentle warning. Nothing startling, nothing bad, radiating only goodness and peace in a friendly little heads-up. It's been awhile since my spider-sense has registered something nice, instead of sending a fire alarm off in my brain.

Quiet footsteps approach me from the left, and I feel a small, soft hand on my shoulder.

I turn slowly, looking down at the girl with the antennae. "Oh, hi," I say quietly.

She gives my shoulder a light squeeze. "Your thoughts," she says sweetly, those huge dark eyes like fortune-telling orbs. "They're very guilty. Turmoiled."

"Yeah, well," I say uncomfortably, giving her an unsure smile. "I bet yours are, too."

She smiles back, and releases my shoulder.

"Which door is yours?" I ask.

She points at one standing open, three columns away. I trot over, uncap the sharpie that I kept, holding it over the white of the door.

"Sorry," I say quietly, "I forgot your name. I forgot a lot of names. I didn't… we didn't…"

"Mantis," she says kindly. "I am Mantis."

I write MANTIS on the door.

"There," I say. "You can only stay a little while, your void will start to suck you back in…"

"The Doctor explained," she says.

"Oh. Okay. So…" I grip the sharpie awkwardly and give her a shrug. "What're you… up to? In your… afterlife? Are you exploring too?"

Instead of answering, she gets very close to my face, looking into my eyes as if trying to spot a dislodged eyelash. She touches the back of my hand briefly with her own.

I notice her battle-worn outfit now, that other-worldly space look replaced by battle scarring. The green and black wraps and arm-guards are scratched, torn, signs of injury and hard hits. The fleshy antenna are weaving a little in place, as if she's underwater.

"I thank you for saving my life," she says. "You are brave, like Kevin Bacon."

"Um, but I didn't save your life. We all died. So. It doesn't count."

"Be patient," she says, her tone wispy and hopeful. "All things count. All matters."

"I don't know what that means."

A door slams open at the far end of the row, and… a war-torn looking, battle-hardened, long haired soldier comes stumbling out, the flash of a metal arm glimmering in the sickly white lights…

"Whoa, it's the metal arm dude," I say out loud.

Bucky Barnes.

The guy I fought at the airport.

He's turning in a confused circle, looking at my labels written on some of the doors closest to him. He looks dizzy and angry.

He finally notices Mantis and I standing there.

"What the hell," he groans.

…

...

* * *

...

* * *

 **Coming Next**

Well, James Buchanan Barnes hasn't quite adapted to being dead. Maybe it's time to try and find some of the others that turned to ash and see how they're getting along...

* * *

 **Special Thanks**

My beta Crystal! I would be KNOWHERE in this fic without her (heh heh, get it?!) We are getting close to wrapping up this birthday fic, and she's been very patient with me, haha. She's just the greatest!

Please be sure to check out her "Paint It Black" universe here in fanfiction. There's currently three books, the third in progress. First: Paint it Black, Second: Silent Night, Third: Riders in the Sky. Find her stories in my favorites or her penname QueenofCrystallopia in my favorite authors!

Be sure to be on the look out for the next upcoming chapters in Riders in the Sky. You won't want to miss how EPIC they are.

* * *

 **PERSONAL REVIEWER REPLIES!**

* * *

Tightpants182: Thank you SO much for your review! Having you be so supportive has helped give me that extra push to get this chapter finished. For some reason I was really having difficulty mentally to get in the right zone for this. I truly appreciate you tuning in!

EleanorGardner: You've been so patient, thank you! I know it's a bit of a shorter one, but better than nothing I hope hehehe. Thanks for your review!

Guest(s): Alas my anonymous readers, you all are just lovely. Thanks for joining the read!

NW nightwalker HP: I always recommend my beta, QueenofCrystallopia if you're looking for another good read! Thanks for your review!

oceanwaves13: I will also add this new chapter to the Ao3 website :) Thank you so much for your review! I've been eating up those new clips we keep seeing on Twitter. They give me LIFE!

purpleflame2: Alas, SO true :) Thank you so much for your review!

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Guest (Ann): hey thanks for popping in! Hello! Thank you so much for your review! God bless!

AppleSpongeCake: Hey, thanks for the prompt/inspiration! That was amazing! And it really helped add something to that last chapter. You are AWESOME! This last chapter is as close as I get to Peter being accidentally evil in this fic haha, and unfortunately his travels are now at an end. If you are not reading my Avenge the Departed fic, you might like that! Peter is working undercover as a criminal in that one! There's a LOT of action and drama in that one, might be right up your alley.

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	16. Part VI: Soul - The Fallen Gather Here

PART SIX - THE SOUL

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

 _Finale Part One: The Fallen Gather Here_

* * *

…

…

Bucky Barnes turns in a circle, looking confused.

"This looks just like the last place I left," he mutters. "Some of the doors went to… you know. Other places. But this looks just like it." He turns and looks at us. "Are you real?"

I nod. "You?"

"Yeah," he replies shortly. "You're that kid. From the airport. Under-oo-something."

"No, no, not… under anything. Spider-Man. Uh. Peter." I walk over to him and thrust out my hand.

He shakes it, hesitantly. "Last time we met I was punching you in the face."

"Yeah, and I won."

" _Pretty_ sure Wilson's wings took you out."

"Oh. Well. You conceded. So I won."

"I did not concede. I was stuck to the floor."

"With _my_ web. So we both lost?" I offer meekly.

"Why aren't you trying to fight me right now?" he asks suspiciously. "Last _you_ knew, I was a dangerous fugitive."

I shrug. "Why fight you? _Here?"_

"Anywhere," he shrugs. " _You're_ one of Stark's lackeys. Isn't your directive to bring me in?"

"Is that what you think this is?" I ask, gesturing to the never-ending stream of fog and white doors. "Some sort of prison that _I_ brought you to?"

He shrugs. "I don't know you. Or the full extent of your powers."

"I'm just as much of a newcomer to here as you," I say. "I'm not going to try and fight you. You're still Captain America's friend, after all."

"Damn," he sighs. "I was at least hoping if I ran into something, it would be a deity thanking me for my service. Or a bad guy," he squints his eyes at me, "Telling me why I've been trapped here and how I can fight my way out."

"Neither of those things have happened to me," I sigh. "I think we're just _here_ and that's _it."_

"Do you at least know where we are?" Bucky asks. He looks like someone has hit him in the face with a shovel. He looks tired and gross. "Or… what this is? I've had my guesses, but…"

I give him a helpless expression and shrug my shoulders. "I'd like to hear your theory."

"We both got sucked into some sort of torture chamber engineered by Thanos to make people relive painful childhood memories?" he offers, sarcastically.

"You experienced loss, pain," Mantis offers kindly. "Some of your doors may lead you to such pasts. Alternates. Or futures."

"Sorry, but who the hell are you?" Bucky asks.

"I am Mantis," she replies in the same tone she used with me.

"Do you know about what these doors mean? Or why they're here?"

"Only my own," she replies. "Not yours. Everyone is different."

"So you have different worlds in different doors too?"

"Yes," Mantis answers, and I nod quickly.

"Thanos doesn't have the balls to create entire worlds at each of our disposals," Bucky says. "So there goes my theory."

"We're dead," I say quietly. "You know that, right?"

"I've been trying _not_ to think that."

"Thanos won, I think," I say slowly. "He took the time stone from Dr. Strange and left us stranded on his planet and then everyone started turning to dust."

"You too?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah. Me too."

"Me three," Mantis adds helpfully. "And many more. There should be others."

Bucky nods at me. "Tony Stark up in space with you?"

I nod. "I think I was the last to… to die. He…" I pause. "I was only able to hold it off because of my powers. Everyone else died first. I was the last to go. I don't know if Mr. Stark died after I did, but I don't think so. He doesn't have powers trying to self-heal, like I was trying to do while I was deteriorat…" I pause. "You get the idea."

"So Stark might be alive." He sighs. "I guess that's something."

"What happened to you?" I cross my arms over my chest, leaning on the edge of the door. "Where've you been this whole time?"

"Hiding in Wakanda." Bucky shudders and looks away. "Thanos showed up in Wakanda with an army of aliens and five stones. He took the last stone from Vision. We were fighting there, on the outskirts of the city in the grasslands and in the jungle - as far as I know, he ended the whole damn world."

"What's the last thing you remember?" I ask.

Bucky shakes his head. "Nothing I want to repeat."

"Maybe it can help us find out who is here," Mantis presses gently. "And who is alive."

"Last thing I saw," Bucky replies hoarsely, "Was Steve Rogers staring at me. He hadn't realized what he was seeing yet. The shock and the horror wasn't there yet. He just glanced over. Saw me approach. I went to…" He stops. "That's it. That's the last thing I remember."

"So Captain America might still be alive," I say eagerly. "We might as well… you know. Pop the champagne now. If Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers are both still alive, they'll find a way to fix this."

Bucky holds up a hand. "One, you're not old enough to drink…"

"Wow. Really? You sound like Happy."

"I'm not happy at all. Two," he pauses, and puts a heavy hand on my shoulder, with two hesitant pats. "People… don't come back from the dead."

I narrow my eyes. "You did."

"That was different, I never died to begin with."

"Oh. I didn't know that. Where did you go?"

"A Hydra facility where I was tortured and brainwashed for seventy years, end of story," Bucky turns and walks away stiffly.

"I didn't know," I say, taking a step forward.

Mantis lays a hand on my arm, shakes her head gently. "Maybe we should search for the others," she offers, raising her voice slightly for Bucky to hear, too. "The others may be lost and frightened too. We can explain to them that they are in an afterlife."

"Oh, is that what this is?" Bucky looks around blearily. "My other theory was purgatory." He walks over to the door he exited from, opens it, walks across the threshold, and disappears for a moment. He comes back only a second later.

"What are you doing?" I ask confusedly.

"You can't stay in someone's else's fog-bank for too long," he says, "You start to feel like you're going to get vacuumed back. I was… restarting the timer, I guess."

"Fog bank," I repeat. "That's a good name for it."

"What else would you call this?" he swipes his hand low to the ground, stirring up a white tendril of mist that follows his hand for a moment, and then dissolves.

"Doorchard," I reply sheepishly.

Bucky stares at me.

"An orchard of doors," I explain.

Mantis lets out a profoundly freaky laugh, sort of high-pitched and stabbing, as if she were a robot trying to replicate human laugh-sounds while her plastic flesh melted off her face.

Bucky stares at her, unsure of how to react.

I walk over to his door and start to write with my sharpie.

"How'd you find a pen?" he asks.

"Long story," I sigh. "Um - what should I call you? James?"

"Bucky, please. I haven't been called James since 'forty-three."

I write BUCKY on the door. "There. Now you know which one is yours."

He glances around at some of my other markings on the doors. "You've been busy."

"I've been _bored."_

"I've been dead," Mantis announces morbidly.

I nearly smile at that, but Bucky's confusion and general sadness helps keep me grounded in the here and now. "So we want to look for some others, yeah?" I ask. "Mantis? You think that's a good idea?"

"Remember how lost you felt when you first arrived," she reminds me. "We should help the others."

"You got all that from touching my shoulder?" I ask, a little creeped out.

She nods, her dark eyes wide.

"She's a telepath or something," I say to Bucky.

Bucky tries to casually clasp his hands behind his back without Mantis noticing. "So, uh, how'd you two meet?"

"I am with the kickers of names and the takers of asses," she replies. "We call ourselves the guardians. We dance to save the world."

"I think she was on a dance team," I whisper to Bucky.

"Peter Quill dances, I do not dance," she specifies.

Bucky glances at me. "Peter. That's you, isn't it?"

"No… there's another Peter. Peter Quill. I'm Peter Parker."

"I am MANTIS," Mantis repeats happily.

"Back up. So you were on that other planet when you died with Tony Stark and who else?"

"Some group that call themselves The Guardians," I answer. "We _literally_ just met them."

"We save the galaxy," Mantis helps. "And I am an _empath._ Not a telepath."

"Listen," Bucky says, "Do you think, uh, with your empathic powers, you and the Red Witch might be able to cook up something?"

"Soup?" she questions.

"No, I mean like… use your powers to keep everyone calm and in one place for awhile. If we can gather everybody in one spot, and talk this through, we can piece together what happened."

"I do not know the Red Witch," Mantis shrugs. "But… perhaps we can."

"Don't you mean the Scarlet Witch?" I ask.

"Yeah, whatever," Bucky waves me off. "I'm sure she'd kill us using either one. Wanda is preferred. From what I hear."

I pause. "Oh. If she's here. That means she died too."

"Lots of people died, kid," Bucky turns away quickly, and begins aiming for the nearest unmarked door. He wrenches it open and finds a dark alleyway, the sounds of a loud bar and a city street beyond it. I hear a lot of voices speaking in the nearby open plaza, with outdoor tables for a restaurant and smokers spilling out into the evening. Everyone is speaking in French.

He slams it quickly. "Uh," he gestures awkwardly over his shoulder. "One of you're… uh, afterlives."

I walk over and write FRANCE? on the door. "Next?" I exclaim cheerfully.

Mantis pads along behind us, looking through the door on the other side. Another white plain, mist pooling through. "Another dimension," she offers. "I will look through briefly and come back."

"Wait - just so - so you don't get lost," I rush over to the door and write on the other side, where she can see it.

PETER PARKER'S AFTERLIFE

OPEN INVITATION - PLEASE COME IN

On my side, I write a question mark.

"If you don't see anyone right away," I urge, "Come right back. Someone will see the sign if they are in there looking around like we are."

"Do not worry for me, Peter Parker," Mantis smiles. "I won't be lost."

"It doesn't seem right to split up now that we've found each other, anyway," I say, with a sigh. "I don't know why."

"I will be safe," she says, "I have senses." She walks through the door and shuts it carefully behind her.

"Over here," Bucky calls, standing by a shut door.

"What's in that one?"

"Another one of your… you know. Your alternates. Sorry. I feel like I'm prying into you're, uh, very private heaven."

"This isn't heaven," I correct. "You're right. It's more like purgatory." I nod at the door. "Did you look in there?"

"Its New York."

"Really?" I squeak, a little too excitedly. "Are you sure?"

"Trust me. I know the Bronx." Bucky sighs and keeps walking. "Go Yanks," he mutters.

I try to avoid getting distracted by jumping right through the door. I want to see the Yankee stadium. I want to breathe my New York air. I want to visit Aunt May - whatever version of Aunt May this would be.

Instead, I just scribble. THE BRONX.

"Here's another dimension," Bucky stands with an open door and mist pools out, joining up with the mist already here. "I'll check it out."

"Okay," I write the same message on the door. _PETER PARKER'S AFTERLIFE… OPEN INVITATION, PLEASE COME IN._

"That's a very trusting thing to do," Bucky muses, more to himself than me.

"So?" I ask.

"So if Thanos destroys half the universe, those of us on Earth _and_ those of you in space, who else ended up in here?" he shrugs a bit. "I wonder why we're finding each other at all. There could have been millions and millions of exits between you and I. Hundreds of beings, species, people. There could have been a thousand doors of New Yorkers alone between your door and mine. So why wasn't there? Instead were were only a few doors away. See what I mean?"

I blink. "You're going to break my brain."

"I think it might be too late for any of our minds," Bucky scoffs. "There's other powers at work here, I think. Something keeping us bound together even in the afterlife."

"What? Like God or something?"

Bucky shrugs again. "I haven't been to church since nineteen-forty. Maybe. Sure. If you want. Maybe the universe? Maybe those who die together are tethered together in whatever comes after."

"We died on different planets," I remind him.

"But we've both died fighting by the side of an Avenger," he says.

"Oh. Yeah. I guess we all did, somehow. Maybe that's why all of our doors are so close together."

"It's just a theory," he replies, suddenly exhausted again. "I'm going in."

"Good luck."

"Thanks, kid." He shuts the door behind him, and I scribble another question mark on it.

One of the doors opens far down the line, maybe ten doors down. One of the furthest yet.

It opens, but nothing steps through. From my angle I can't see into that plane.

"Hello?" I call out nervously, now thinking of Bucky's other theory. It could be a serial killer from Kansas, a comedian from Canada, a man-eating alien from a fish-tank in Thor's palace…

Awesome.

Something tall and slender steps through and stands awkwardly in the white.

It's a tree.

With a face.

A tree.

… with a face.

Two trunks for legs, two branches for arms. A cute, button-eyed sort of face.

 _Oh my god, it's a baby Treebeard._

"Whoa," I say quietly. "An ent. An actual, real ent. Oh my god. Ned would freak. I can't wait to tell him about this. I can't…" I pause. I won't be telling Ned anything. Because I'm dead.

For all I know, he's dead too, and he's a trillion doors away, and even if I spent the entire afterlife searching each door for him, it would take years and years to find him…

I shake it off. _No._ Ned didn't die. He couldn't possibly.

I have to think of May and Ned still alive and on earth and waiting for me to come home. That's more bearable than afraid that they, too, are wandering this hellish doorchard looking for answers.

"I am Groot," says the tree, in a high pitched tone, cartoonish and honestly adorable.

"Oh. Nice to meet you," I run over and stick out my hand. "I'm Peter."

The tree looks down at my hand, and then mimics my movement, sticking his hand out so that it shoots past me, the branch growing a little longer than it was two seconds ago.

I gulp nervously.

"I am Groot," he repeats.

"I AM PETER," I say loudly, afraid he didn't hear me the first time.

Groot frowns at me. "I am _Groot,"_ he repeats, only with sarcasm and a look of disgust.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. This tree is taller than me, and I don't know what kind of powers a walking, talking tree would have. If it's as strong as any old tree just falling down in the woods, I'd say I'm evenly matched for strength and maybe I _don't_ want to fight it.

"I didn't mean to insult you," I add, kindly. "We - we're probably the same, you know. We both died. From Thanos."

Groot's frown of anger slowly dissipates to a frown of profound sadness. "I am Groot," he says softly, looking away.

"Okay, Groot," I say kindly, reaching out very tentatively and patting his arm. "Yes you are."

Groot pulls his arm away, the way an old friend refuses a hug and announces they _want_ _some space._ He begins to walk down the line of doors, massive head swinging stiffly from side to side, looking confused.

"Hey Groot?" I say carefully.

He turns and looks at me, swaying a little in place. _Oh my god I'm talking to an Ent. Oh my god oh my god oh my god._

"We both died," I repeat. "You're in my afterlife. You can stay as long as you want - or can, if the wind doesn't suck you back in. There are others too."

"I am GROOT?" Groot seems to ask loudly, the bark around his forehead wrinkling as if he's raising eyebrows. "I am Groot?"

"Others," I repeat. "Peter," I say, pointing to myself. "Groot," I point to him. Then I point at the other doors with the question marks on them. "Bucky," I say. "Mantis."

"I am GROOT!" Groot rushes to the door that I last indicated, his huge steps eating up the mist by scattering it in every direction. His spindly, leafing fingers, like dry sticks, curl around the door to wrench it open.

"I AM GROOT!" he screeches into the white mist on the other side.

"Groot!" I hear Mantis exclaim with a happy squeal.

"GROOT! BUDDY! YOU'RE OKAY!" there's another voice with her - oh my god, that's Peter Quill. Mantis found him in the other void.

Mantis and Quill both run through the door, grabbing at Groot in the weirdest version of _tree hugging_ that exists in any way.

Groot tries to push of their affections, muttering, "I am Groo-ooot," in a very annoyed fashion.

"Well, I don't care, you big asshole," Quill exclaims. "I'm going to hug you like a man, end of story."

"You've been traveling for so long!" Mantis cries, her pale hands wrapped around one of his arms. "You've been nearly cut down and regrown again and again! What adventures you have had in all the doors!"

"I am Groot," Groot says sadly.

"I know, buddy, I know," Quill says. "I think he made it. He's the best damn raccoon I've ever met. Or spoken with."

Groot finally escapes from their clutches and shrugs away. "I am Groot."

"Well," Quill scoffs. "Glad to know _Earth_ was still standing when _you_ left it."

"I am Groot."

"Sounds like fun," Quill says sarcastically.

"I wish we could have had more fun," Mantis sighs. "It was not fun."

"I am Groot?"

"Yeah, well, welcome to hell," Quill sighs. "But I _did_ find an arcade. _That_ was awesome." He looks over at me. "What the actual crap?"

"I know," I say, tired of all the explanations.

"I thought _you_ made it at least," he groans. "What about that Stark dude?"

"I think I was the last to go," I say uncomfortably. "He was still… alive."

"I am Groot," says Groot eagerly.

"Oh, for crying out loud, not you, too," Quill exclaims. "His name is _Thor._ He's not an angel or a god."

"Technically," I start to correct.

"No, no, no, he's not," Quill adds. "And I'm sure he's just frolicking around on whatever planet _he_ ended up on."

"I am Groot."

"Okay, great, he made it to Earth. Lucky him. Lucky Rocket. They're all so damn lucky." Quill begins to stalk back down the row of doors. "Listen, kid," he says, turning back to me. "You been through any of these?"

"Yeah," I answer, in a _duhhh_ kind of voice. "I labeled them."

"Oh. Sweet." Quill gives them a perplexed look. "Did you see Gamora in any of these?"

"Not to bring this full circle to a conversation we had when we first met and you were threatening to kill me," I say, exhaustedly leaning on the door. "But I still don't know who Gamora is."

"They were lovers," Mantis says.

"I mean, yeah, sure," Quill nods. "That about sums it up."

"He wanted to be more than lovers," Mantis adds.

"Yo, okay, zippy, you can stop that," Quill interrupts.

"I am Groot," Groot whispers.

"Oh my!" Mantis exclaims.

"Jesus Christ, Groot, no wonder we went to hell," Quill says. "Cut it out." He turns to me. "Gamora is incredibly sexy. Dark hair with purple in it. Green skin. Big eyes. Tight leather… uh… y'know."

"I don't know," I say with confusion. "Was she an alien?"

"Everyone is an alien," Mantis offers. "You are alien to me."

"Hang on, back track," I wave my hand. "This is the girl that had you so upset. Why you punched Thanos in the face. You think she's here too?"

Quill gives me a stern expression. "That's the idea, smart-ass."

I cross my arms over my chest. "Thanos told you she died and that's why you went into rage mode."

"Yeah," Quill looks away. "So what?"

"So we lost," I say firmly. "Dr. Strange had to give Thanos the time stone. We had him. We had him and then you punched him and Mantis couldn't hang on."

Mantis looks wildly between us.

Quill turns around slowly. "Look, all I care about is Gamora, okay? I'm going to start searching your doors. Groot, you stay here. Mantis, you do - whatever the hell it is you want to do."

"Share a little responsibility at least," I snap. _It's partially your fault we're here,_ I want to say, but I don't.

"Oh, is that it? Huh?" Quill stomps over to me. "You know, I once lived on a planet where there's laws against hitting people - but I was raised in space, so, maybe that doesn't apply to you."

"Doesn't apply to Thanos either, apparently, when _every_ planet is at stake," I snap sarcastically, and instantly regret it.

Quill moves to punch me in the face, and I sense it coming and jerk my head to the side and out of the way.

"Stop it!" Mantis steps between us and slaps a hand on both of our chests.

I feel a weird sense of calm and peace steal over me, muffling my senses and making my body feel warmer and happier than it has in… days? Weeks?

I can tell Quill feels the same effect.

"Damn it, Mantis," he says, stepping out of her touch. "That's cheating."

He fakes like he's going to leave, but then dives for me again, and this time I don't even have to get out of the way.

Bucky catches Quill by the arm, hauls him back, and throws him neatly onto the ground like he was dropping a paperclip on a windy day. One of the doors stands open where he had slipped through quietly while we were arguing.

"DUDE," Quill snaps angrily. "Who the hell are you?"

"Same question," Bucky snarls back. "Who are YOU?"

"I AM GROOT," Groot announces, pointing at Quill and laughing.

"He most certainly did not kick my ass," Quill launches to his feet and brushes himself off angrily. There's nothing to brush off.

"Peter Quill," I say tiredly. "Bucky Barnes. Bucky Barnes, Peter Quill. I'll let Groot introduce himself. Because that's all he seems to do and I still have no idea why."

"I am Groot," says Groot.

"There you go," I say tiredly.

"You said it, Groot," Quill responds with a huff of a laugh. "Where the hell did you come from?"

"Wakanda, Africa. You?" Bucky asks.

"That's not… even a real country," Quill rolls his eyes. "I may not have made it past the sixth grade but I didn't fail geography."

"I am Groot," says Groot.

Quill turns and looks at him in surprise. "I'm sorry, did you just say that you died _in Wakanda?"_

"I am Groot," Groot says slyly.

Quill smirks, as if Groot just insulted everyone secretly.

Bucky points at Groot. "I already met this guy. In Wakanda. I mean, met him. Okay, not met him. I saw him across a field. Thor landed in the middle of our battle with a talking tree and a talking raccoon."

"Oh, you're one of _those_ guys," Quill rolls his eyes.

"I am Groot," Groot nods.

"Don't throw me under the bus now," Quill turns to Groot. "You said were in the battle against Thanos on Earth with a bunch of pussies." He points at Bucky. "He's no pussy."

Bucky raises his eyebrows. "That's… not even a compliment. _Or_ an insult. For the record, I don't actually care what your tree thinks of me." He turns back to me. "You good?"

"I'm good," I nod at Quill. "I was being an asshole."

"Yeah, you were," Quill snaps.

I wait for him to admit that he was being one too, but he doesn't. _Oh well._ Can't win them all. Maybe losing them all is just something I should get used to. Case in point; Thanos.

"I'm going to keep looking," Bucky says. "Try not to kill each other - AGAIN - till I get back. Keep that question mark on the door for now."

"Did you see anyone?"

"I didn't find anyone or anything."

"Did you go through any of the doors into alternative universes?"

"I just looked. Briefly. Plenty of doors looking into a bunch of random places in space. Whoever's afterlife that is, I think they're not from Earth."

"Noted," I say. "I'll look down this row."

"Are you guys going to help me look for Gamora or not?" Quill asks.

"I'll help," Mantis says kindly.

"If we find someone with green skin, we'll send them back," I sigh.

"Don't be an idiot, lots of people have green skin," Quill says. "I don't want fifty green-skinned guys in here for an identification line-up and I have to give them the bad news that they're all dead. Or trapped from another afterlife dimension."

"Just tell them that you're Buzz Lightyear and you come in peace," I say. "I'm going to try this column, Bucky."

"Who is Buzz Lightyear and _why_ is that such a cool frickin' name?" Quill exclaims.

"I'll try this one," Bucky responds, reaching for the next blank door. My spider-senses tingle.

"WAIT!" I shriek.

The second it opens, a massive gray fist plunges out and completely obliterates Bucky's face.

Bucky flies back a good eight feet or so, hits one of the other doors, and slides to the floor, blood gushing out of his mouth and nose and a dazed look on his face. His eyes drift shut.

Quill is laughing and pointing hysterically.

"Holy shit!" I exclaim, abandoning my door and rushing over to him. I kneel beside him and tap his shoulder. "Bucky?" I ask. "Bucky? You awake?"

Bucky's eyes pop open and he lets out a loud roar, leaping to his feet.

"TINY MAN WANTS TO FIGHT," Drax bellows. "BUT NOT BEFORE YOU TELL ME HOW TO ESCAPE THIS INFERNAL LABYRINTH OF ILLUSIONS!"

"Fight him, Drax!" Quill encourages.

"No, DUDE! CHILL!" I screech.

"GREETINGS, PETERS," Drax says to both of us, his bare chest heaving with those weird red tattoo-like marks. He's got some sort of makeshift weapon in either hand, and they look like they've been fashioned out of space junk that he's found. "And you," he says to Mantis, "My dearest friend! I am relieved to see your ugly face!"

"I know his love is true because I am ugly," Mantis says to me.

"Huh?" I ask confusedly.

"What exactly are your plans for those, uh, things?" Quill points to his weapons.

"I SHALL AVENGE US ALL," Drax shouts.

"That's OUR group, not yours," I protest, stepping in front of Bucky, who looks like he might kill _everyone._ His eyes are bloodshot and his nose is purple. "Calm down. There's nothing to fight here."

"Are we not fighting out way out of this cthonic trap?" Drax asks, pointing with his weapon at Bucky. "Perhaps this man is a Servant of Thanos!"

"I am Groot," says Groot.

"That is another matter entirely," Drax replies.

"I am Groot," Groot repeats, nodding eagerly.

"What'd he say?" I ask suspiciously.

"Groot told him he fought by Bucky's side in _Wakanda,"_ Quill replies sarcastically, clearly still not believing Wakanda is a real place.

"Well then," Drax lowers his weapons. "If you have fought side by side with the Guardians, perhaps I was mistaken." He quickly changes his mind and brings one of the weapons back up. "But consider this warning! If you cross us, I WILL end you!"

"I don't even know you who are!" Bucky exclaims. "You literally mean NOTHING to me."

"He's another guardian," I say. "I'm… I'm sorry, I just forgot your name, either, there were SO MANY NAMES…"

"That's Drax," Quill says. "Drax, that's… shit, I forgot your name too. You? Bloody nose? What's your name again?"

A huge sigh. "Bucky Barnes."

"And we have a Groot," I whisper, "In three, two, one…"

"I am Groot," Groot says.

"There it is," I sigh.

"He did NOT," Quill snaps at Groot.

Drax begins to laugh loudly. "You? Bucky Barnes? You bested my friend Quill in battle?" He throws back his head and laughs for way too long. "You must have looked so stupid," he says to Quill.

"It was hardly an ass kicking, I fell," Quill protests. "Groot likes to exaggerate!"

"We missed you, Drax," Mantis touches Drax's arm gently. "I am happy you are here."

"I am not happy," Drax replies evenly. "I am very unhappy. Where _is_ here?"

"WHY is here?" I ask, a smirk on my face.

Drax nods. "The not-fat Peter understands, at last."

"Jesus. I am not fat," Quill moans.

Bucky turns around and walks away quickly.

"Where are you going?" Mantis calls out.

"I don't have time for family reunions," Bucky says. His voice sounds horrible, all gurgly and sore from the broken nose. "I am going to keep looking for my people."

"I should go get Dr. Strange," I say. "I know where he is at already. But he's not going to be happy to see me."

"Why?" Quill asks. "What did _you_ do to piss him off?"

"I went to a bunch of different universes and tried to collect the infinity stones to get us back to our universe and nearly broke Dr. Strange's afterlife by trapping him accidentally in some sort of apocalyptic time loop," I snap.

Quill's mouth drops open and he looks a little delighted. "Great. So he's going to be _way_ more mad at you than he will be at me."

"I wouldn't bet on it," I say. "You _did_ punch Thanos in the face when we _had_ him down."

"Christ, let it go already," Quill moans. "I feel bad about it, okay? I feel bad. Happy now?"

"That does not sound happy," Mantis says.

"We are all very unhappy here!" Drax announces.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, I'm just a little upset that I'm _dead,"_ I exclaim.  
"You and me both, pal," Quill replies.

"We are not truly dead if we are alive," Drax says.

"No shit, genius," Quill says. He starts to leave through the same door he came through. "Gimme a second. I need to go stand in my door for a hot second before Inky, Blinky, Pinky, or Clyde get me."

"Who's that?" I ask.

Quill gives me a look that could turn me to dust. (Again). "You ever play Pac-Man? Please tell me they still have Pac-Man!"

I nod. "Of course."

"Okay, then," he pauses, waiting.

I wait too. I wave at the room as if to say, _go on._

"THE GHOSTS," he erupts.

"Oh!" I exclaim. "I didn't know they had names."

"Earth kids nowadays are seriously uninformed," Quill rolls his eyes and disappears into his void, shutting the door behind him.

"That went very well," Mantis says encouragingly.

"I'm not here," Drax announces weirdly.

"I am Groot," says Groot.

"That's enough, Groot," Drax responds.

"You three," I say, "Just… stay here if you can. Pop back into your doors for a second if you can to… ya'know, restart your timer, as it were. But don't get into any trouble. Don't go through any of _my_ doors. I'll be back." I go through the door labeled THE ONE WHERE DR. STRANGE LIVES.

Just like my side of the door, endless transparency and snow, cold and dead air. Tendrils of mist.

Dr. Strange sitting in the middle of it all, sitting cross-legged, holding out his hands in a prayerful poise with his eyes screwed shut, as if deeply concentrating.

I creep in quietly and stand uncomfortably, trying to think of what I can say.

"If you're here to break my concentration, I am not happy about it," Dr. Strange says drolly without opening his eyes.

"We're having a meeting," I blurt. "And I think you should be there."

One eye creeps open. "Who is _we?"_

"Anyone we can find," I say. "Anyone who died with us fighting Thanos. Avengers and Guardians."

"You've found others?" he asks, the other eye opening.

"Several." I tap my foot. "You coming, or what?"

He shuts his eyes again. "I'm busy."

"Well, then," I say. "Un-busy yourself. I think it will mean a lot to them if you can… you know. Be there for them. Like you were for me."

He doesn't answer. In fact, he starts… humming. A long, thin note, like when people say _ohm_ when they meditate or do yoga.

"Okay," I say slowly. "I guess just join us when you're done with your vocal warm-ups for all the Broadway shows you'll be trying out for. Here. In the afterlife. Where we're dead."

I turn and stomp back for the door with the scratchy _Peter_ carved into it.

"Peter?"

I stop. Turn around, slowly. "Yes?"

His eyes are still shut, but his face looks… moved. Sad, even. "I'll be there in a few moments."

I break into an unexpected smile. "Take your time."

One eye creeps open. He can't decide if I was trying to be punny or not.

I shut the door behind me before he can ask.

"The puny human is back," Drax says loudly. "I shall take this opportunity to return to my white hell for a brief moment and contemplate revenge on Thanos."

His door shuts behind him. Mantis and Groot stand right where I left them.

"I see no one died again while I was gone," I sigh.

Could this afterlife get any weirder?

...

…

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...

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 **NEXT: Finale Part Two, which will be the last chapter of Where They Go. Bucky and Peter have tried to gather as many as they can. But there is one who needs a little more convincing.**

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To my crazy amazing and talented beta, QueenofCrystallopia. Girl, I love you! Good luck at work today. You are SO FREAKIN' AWESOME. Don't ever forget it.

* * *

 **REVIEW REPLIES**

* * *

Guest - thank you SO much for reading and reviewing! I am very glad you enjoyed Thor's cameo!

Starnight5 - I am terribly sorry it took me SO long to update. I was avoiding the end, I didn't want to leave these characters in the void, it was so hard to let them go since I still have no closure from the films. I hope you enjoyed my pseudo ending! And ALL the Thor feels! I certainly didn't expect that scene to go in that way, Thor really took over and reacted just how he wanted, lol. I hope you enjoyed seeing all the characters!

Tightpants182 - I am glad you enjoyed Bucky's appearance! I hope his cameo was worth it! Thank you so much for reading, you've been so amazing.

Darth Cody - Actually, Venom's cameo was a reference to QueenofCrystallopia's fanfic; "PAINT IT BLACK" an entirely new story in her own universe, where Peter is in a battle for his life against the deadly Venom parasite! It's an amazing story and I can't recommend it enough! We wanted to try and find a way to combine our universes without breaking too many rules! :)

Fanatic2018 - AW no worries, I am so glad you've been enjoying! Thank you so much! I probably won't write any fic about Mean!Stark haha, it was SO hard to write him in a mean way just for half a chapter!

lucyolympus17 - Thankfully, no lol XD I'm totally anti-Thanos hahaha XD Thanks so much for your review!

Guest (2) - I am so glad you liked the scene where Peter told his aunt and uncle! That was such a fun scene to write because that alternative of Peter being honest just doesn't get to happen very often! This story gave me an opportunity to play around with a lot of what-ifs.

SpiderGod766 - Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!

Guest (3) - It's okay, haha, ME EITHER. XD

LoonyLovegood1981 - You are SO SWEET, OMG. (hugs). I LOVE that you waited to read this till after Infinity War! Hopefully it made you feel a little bit better haha. Man after seeing IW for the first time I literally felt, like, sick to my stomach! I was so upset haha. I know you will be reading this message AFTER I finish the chapter, but as I am actually writing this reply to you, I haven't finished the chapter quite yet... so... If I am able to use "Another One Bites the Dust" I will definitely try. If I can't quite make it work I am sorry but it's still a REALLY good idea and thank you so much for suggesting it!

Aelaer - I've been trying so hard to get into AO3 but the formatting is driving me nuts! It's so HARD to post things on there! haha! I am glad you are here too :) I love your various thoughts as you read through the chapter! Thank you so much for reviewing!

little miss BANANNA HEAD - LOL I love you lol! Thank you so much for your reviews! I surprisingly really love writing for Mantis. She's not "easy" per say, but very SIMPLE. That girl knows what she's about lol. And yes Peter is totally doing a YOLO thing, ironically it being WAY TOO LATE for that XD And (dun dun dun) YES THAT WAS TOTALLY A PAINT IT BLACK REFERENCE AND I WAS TOTALLY FANGIRLING WHILE I WAS WRITING IT AND THEN QUEEN OF CRYSTALLOPIA WAS FANGIRLING WHILE SHE WAS READING IT AND WE WERE BOTH FREAKING OUT LOL... anyways yes my apologies for the caps we just got REALLY excited about referencing each other's stories.

NewCanvas - OMG you are SO sweet! LOVE your penname, by the way. There's nothing like a new blank canvas :) Thanks so much for reading!

precious831 I feel absolutely THRILLED when someone quotes my own words back to me. I am SO glad you enjoyed my metaphors lol. I've been told they are overly complicated or don't make any sense, haha. That was the sweetest review ever! Seriously thank you, you are too kind! (hugs!)

NursingSchoolGrad - HAHA I loved your review and your assessment of Dr. Strange. yeah he'd be a terrible children's doctor lol. Thank you so much for reviewing and I wish you all the luck with your studies! That DOES sound stressful! Hang in there :)

EleanorGardner - AW YOU ARE SO SWEET. Thank you for reading. (hugs!)


	17. Part VI: Soul - Burning Bright

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PART SIX - Soul

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…

Chapter Seventeen

 _Finale Part Two: Burning Bright_

…

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...

I stand awkwardly in my after-life doorchard, looking at Mantis and Groot. Drax opens his door, steps through, whispers something to Mantis, and then disappears again. Instead of going back through his door, he begins walking down the - aisle, I guess - humming lightly to himself.

What a weird guy. I go up to the door that he had blasted through when he nearly killed Bucky and write DRAX on it. As an afterthought, I add; TO THE MAX!

"I am Groot," Groot says, pointing at me.

"Yes, Groot, I'm here," I sigh.

Groot's mouth drops open.

"What's the face for?" I ask with confusion.

"Groot said that you made it back," Mantis says, "And you said yes, you are here."

"What a fortunate coincidence," I answer.

"I AM GROOT?" says Groot.

I blink. "Um. No, Groot, I still don't understand what you're saying."

Groot grabs the top of his head like someone just announced his favorite sports team won and he just can't believe it.

"He asked you if you could understand what he said," Mantis explains, "And you said you could not understand. And yet you answered his question by saying you did not understand. So he thinks that you do."

"Oh… No?" I ask. "I just… I don't know. I assumed. Huh." I pause. "Maybe understanding him is easier than I thought. I swear, it was a coincidence. I had no idea I was answering his questions."

"I am Groot," Groot says slyly, a creepy grin in his bark-face.

I hold out my hands. "I don't know what you're saying, Groot."

He blows a raspberry at me as rudely as he can.

"What would you like to do now?" Mantis asks.

"I guess I should help search for others," I say.

It's weird to say _others._ Even with Dr. Strange confirming that he knew Quill was somewhere close-by early on, pretending he had punched him instead of me - I still felt _alone._ Even with Dr. Strange a door away, I was still so very alone.

But I don't feel that way anymore. I feel like I'm part of some super-secret-special club while in a prison. It's good to feel like I have friends but I don't exactly want to brag about the real-estate.

Quill walks through his door again. "Recharged," he says with a grunt. "No super sucky-wind is going to suck me back in for now."

"Does it do it every time?" I ask. "I don't think I've ever stayed too long in anyone else's dimension long enough to find out. I only did it once, really. In Dr. Strange's plane."

"Yeah, well, that asshole probably wouldn't let you experiment to find out if that happens every time," Quill responds with an eyeroll, leaning on his doorframe. "You know I gotta theory on that."

"What is your theory?" Mantis asks excitedly.

"I think that you have to really want someone to leave, otherwise the wind isn't that strong," Quill responds. "It's like, it's like their afterlife is rejecting you _for_ them."

"Like the way antibodies attack foreign invaders to the body," I say excitedly.

Quill raises his eyebrows. "How many anti-whats are invading your body?"

"Nope, that's not… that's not what that means."

"I am Groot," Groot says.

"You said it, Groot." Quill replies.

Suddenly, I let out a short sigh of jealousy. Groot and Quill have this whole Han Solo and Chewbacca thing going on. A cool space pirate dude with a talking tree that only he could understand… a rebel smuggler with a fluffy wookie that only he could understand… every kid's dream, right?

Mantis opened a door somewhere behind us and disappeared, and I didn't see which one. I look over my shoulder and see nothing.

"Did you see where Mantis went?" I ask, a little nervous on her behalf. She's so sweet and naive that I would hate to see anything weird happen to her. Including ending up in a dimension that she doesn't want to be in.

I don't have to worry for very long, because a door at least six down the column opens wide, and she steps out, tugging someone by the hand.

"I am not accustomed to being led by the hand through alien universes," says a thick, Wakandan accent.

Oh, shit, it's the Black Panther. He's wearing similar black panther armor that he worse when I met him once briefly, at the airport in Germany. It's clearly been updated, it looks softer somehow, more pliable that the harder stuff he was wearing then.

His helmet with the glow-y eyes and ears are missing, though.

I glance worriedly at the door that Bucky had disappeared through. T'Challa was the one who was trying to take out Cap and Bucky. I mean - I guess he was technically on our side the whole time, but at the same time, he wasn't on anyone's side but his own. Maybe when the line was drawn he stood with Tony Stark, but he wasn't _following_ Tony Stark. He was just after the man who killed his dad, supposedly. I saw the news.

I was definitely sent home before I saw anything truly resolved. The fight was over, as far as I knew. Captain America and the Soldier had escaped. Prince T'Challa went back to Wakanda to become King, and the last I heard, he and his sister were opening some sort of refugee help and education center in the US or something. And that they were revitalizing their border policies, making it more open to tourism, instead of being so isolated.

That was all normal, seeing-it-on-the-news type of stuff, if Aunt May happened to turn on a TV when I was nearby, or if someone was talking about it at school, or when an alert on my phone popped up because I've flagged any mention of the Avengers so that I get a text when breaking news is released and they're mentioned. (That's not creepy at all, I realize sarcastically. Not creepy at all. But if Happy just texted me back more, maybe I wouldn't have felt like I needed to do that.) Anyway, I know _those_ types of things. Accessible things.

But what do I most certainly NOT know? How things ended with Bucky.

If Bucky walks through one of those doors right now - is T'Challa gonna go full Panther and beat the daylights out of him in the middle of my afterlife?

"Your - your highness," I say awkwardly, bowing to him as Mantis leads him reluctantly towards Quill, Groot, and I.

"I am Groot," Groot says, laughing at me. He definitely doesn't bow, nor Quill.

"No, no, we don't bow," T'Challa says to me, and finally tugs his hand firmly out of Mantis's grip. "This young woman insisted I should come meet you." He flexes his hand, looking at his palm somewhat confusedly. "And I found I _could not_ willfully say no without good reason."

I'm surprised he isn't freaking out about the talking tree. Maybe they have these in Wakanda.

"I am sorry," Mantis says in a whisper, "I may have been accidentally influencing your decision. I try not to make anyone do anything they don't like."

"She's an empath," I explain quickly. Mantis shoots me a grateful smile.

Quill says nothing, arms crossed over his chest, a scowl on his face.

T'Challa doesn't try to address the possible manipulation. Instead, he gives me a curious look. "Your voice is familiar," he says.

"I'm… Spider-Man," I say falteringly. "We met once. At the airport in Germany."

"Ah," he says with a knowing nod. "Underoos, was it not?"

Quill lets out a short bark of a laugh. Oh, great. Glad he knows that reference.

"That was a code word," I say quickly, more to Quill than the Black Panther. "That's not what they call me. At all." I turn back to T'Challa. "I am sure you have a lot of questions…since we're all kind of dead..."

"I have no questions."

"Oh," I say, surprised. "Well. Okay, then."

"Only a statement," T'Challa says mildly. "We're not dead."

Even Quill perks up at this. "Oh yeah? And what makes you say that?"

"I've been dead before," T'Challa shrugs and looks around the bleak emptiness. "I take the hands of my forefathers and step across the threshold into the savannah of the panthers, where my ancestors wait. I stay when I am dead. I return from the brink of death when it is not my time. And this? This is neither of those things. This is someplace else. Someplace alien - trapped between time and space both, from the accursed will of Thanos."

T'Challa looks back at me. "He snapped his fingers and willed us away. That does not make us dead. We only turned to dust because he moved us from a material plane - our bodies could not follow. Dead according to Earth's capability of understanding mortality, maybe. But not truly."

Quill starts to laugh, but is quickly silenced by T'Challa's look. "You know what I say is true," he says quietly. "I see it in your face."

"You won't see much in my face if I hit yours," Quill chuckles.

"Why must you always hit things?" Mantis sighs.

"Quill?" I ask slowly.

"What?" Quill gives me an annoyed glance.

"Have you ever almost died before?" I ask.

Quill pauses, and thinks carefully. "Sorta. Yeah. When we took control of the power stone to stop Ronan from obliterating Xandar. And became frickin' heroes."

"Well," I gesture to T'Challa. "Did you see an ancestor or anything?"

Quill clamps his mouth shut.

"May I?" Mantis reaches for his arm.

"No thanks," Quill says, but he rolls his eyes and immediately holds his arm out. " _Fine."_

Mantis touches his arm, and feels with a sort of rushed, elated expression, and then immense sadness, and then neutral. She lets go of his arm. "You saw someone you loved very, very much, when you were saving the world," she says. "You saw your mother."

"Yup, cool, thanks for sharing with the classroom," Quill mutters.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," I'm quick to defend Mantis, who's been _nothing_ but nice. "I lost my parents. And it sucks. But it happens. "

"Well, COOL," Quill snaps at me. "Anything else you stole from my life story lately? Like my backstory? My name? Don't suppose your dad was the one that killed your mom too?"

I flinch, but I don't back down. "No. But I'm sorry. That _really_ sucks."

There's an awkward silence.

"I am Groot," says Groot.

"Wait, you KNOW this guy?" Quill looks at Groot, back at T'Challa, and then back again.

"We fought side by side in my country," T'Challa nods. "He was a worthy warrior. I am very grateful to him."

"I am Groot," Groot says, probably in the mildest tone I've ever heard.

Quill raises his eyebrows. "Uh - he says your welcome."

"Okay, so," I say quickly, anxiety rising in my chest again. "You don't think we're dead because when people die they see an ancestor. And that didn't happen, so, we're clearly somewhere else."

I don't mention that I saw my parent's plane crash in one of my universe-doors, because, maybe that doesn't count. It wasn't a vision between turning to dust on Titan and waking up in the white mist.

T'Challa moves his hand to gesture at the white space. "This is wrong. This is _abnormal._ An abomination to mankind's final journey." He shrugs. "Which I believe, and hope, means it is only temporary. Life was not meant to be caged." For a moment, his face looks extra sad.

"Cool," Quill says shortly. "So I'm going to leave that loaded statement alone. Where'd Drax go?"

"He whispered to me that he was going to relieve himself behind a door," Mantis answered serenely.

"Are you sure he said the exact word _relieved?"_ I repeat. "I don't want Drax - okay, or anyone - peeing in _my_ afterlife."

Quill laughs. "I'll go get him."

"Um. Thanks." I pause. "Please. Don't let him pee in here."

There's an awkward silence as Mantis, T'Challa, Groot, and I watch Quill walk in the opposite direction that Drax left.

"Should we tell him?" Mantis asks innocently.

Quill immediately turns around and walks in the correct direction, passing us again. "Sure, just let me wander Peter's eternal graveyard without any help," he snaps as he walks by.

Drax appears out of the white fog ten doors down or so, lifting a hand to say hello.

"Bro," Quill calls, "Did you pee in here?"

"I find that I don't need to," Drax says. "But I certainly tried."

"Gross," I groan. I'm beginning to regret asking them to all stand in here and - do what? Hold hands and sing a camp song? "You guys stay here," I say, turning back and marching towards Drax. "It's been a little too long since we've seen Bucky. I'm going to go find him."

"The Jesus lookin' dude?" Quill asks.

"The tormented one," Mantis replies lightly.

"Barnes is here?" T'Challa asks.

I pause, dead in my tracks. "Um…" I begin, looking at him over my shoulder. His face looks… well, oddly hopeful. Happy, even. Not angry. "Maybe?" I lie, and badly.

It takes a moment for T'Challa to realize why I'm being coy. "He has nothing to fear from me," T'Challa explains. "Not now."

I blink awkwardly, waiting for more information. He offers nothing.

"Yeah, okay," I say. I pick up speed and jog down the aisle, aiming for the same direction I saw Bucky leaving in. I pass Drax, holding up my hand for a high five.

Confused, he raises his hand to mirror mine. I slap his palm as hard as I can as I pass.

"OW," roars Drax angrily, glaring at me, down at his hand, and back at me. "You carry a mighty strength, Spider-Boy. Why would you do that?"

"It's a sign of friendship and congratulations, dumbass," Quill yells.

"Sorry," I shrug, jogging backwards for a second. "I thought out of all the guardians, you were probably the only person who could handle a full-strengthened high-five."

"That's what that was?" Drax repeats. "A high five?"

"Yup!" I turn my back and open the door that Bucky had practically fled through. Like he said, family reunions were not his thing.

I open the door into another white doorchard, marking the inside of the door, just in case.

THIS ONE

Just before I close it, I hear Drax shout, "Mantis, hi-five me!" followed by the sound of a slap and a sharp cry from Mantis. I hear Quill and T'Challa both exclaiming angrily that you have to wait till their hand is up to protect their face before you just _go_ for it.

Poor Mantis…I should have explained better.

When the door shuts behind me, I'm plunged into that eerie silence. I remember it when I first woke up. Swirling in the white fog, doors in every direction. The confusion, and the sense of death and loss. The feeling of walking like I had never walked before, and dry heaving was even partially relieving because it meant I had lungs - that I wasn't a pile of sentient dirt.

 _I don't feel so good…_

"Stop it, brain," I say out loud. Weirdly enough, I remember the first person I called out for was Aunt May. She wasn't with me on Titan - she was back on Earth. Safe and sound, I hoped.

Unless…

Unless she turned to dust, too. _Stop thinking about that._

But if there's people from Wakanda here, that means someone from New York could be too… Bucky said so, even suspected it was highly likely…

 _Don't think about it._

"May," I whisper lightly. "I'll be home for you soon. I promise."

I hear a slight thump coming from three doors down, maybe four or five over - I lose count as I run for the sound, which is quickly followed by more thumps.

I hear a woman scream.

" _LEAVE ME ALONE!"_

I watch Bucky fall against a door, sprawled onto the ground. "Wanda," I hear him shout, "I'm telling you. There's others - here. Come and see for yourself."

"NO!" she screams back. She appears out of the fog, advancing on Bucky like she plans to tear him apart with both hands.

I think about the Scarlet Witch in my effed up afterlife universe, threatening to kill me and working as Bad!Stark's attack dog. I'm relieved to see this version, however angry she may be.

At least this time we're on the same side, and she's not taking out everyone around me in order to run away with Hawkeye.

"Get away from me," Wanda cries hoarsely. Now that I'm close enough, I can see her face, bruised and gray, blotchy with tears of ravaging _grief._

I definitely expected some confusion, but nothing like this. Her eyes say something entirely different - for her, something worse than Thanos wiping us out of existence.

Bucky is scrambling to his feet, on the defensive. His face still looks terrible, too. "You don't want to do this," he says calmly. "You don't want to hurt me. We're in this together, you and I. Like it or not. We're stuck like this for now."

"You're nothing but an illusion, you're a trick," Wanda snarls. "This is Thanos's control of reality. Designed to make us sick with hope. You're nothing. _NOTHING."_

"I saw what happened," Bucky says desperately. "I saw what happened with Vision. I'm not nothing." Her hand reached for him, as if she intended to grab him by the throat, but he knocked her hand away. Gently, like a sibling might knock his sister's hand away when she's being annoyingly touchy.

Wanda's face trembles, like a small earthquake begins beneath her eyes and echoes through her chin. She's barely containing herself.

"Hey," I call out carefully. "He's right. We're trapped here too-"

There's a blast of energy that slams into my chest, knocking me back on my ass and sliding several feet through the fog. I run into a door and my head slams back into it. There's a sort of sparkling electricity around me, but it's not red, like her usual powers. It's bright white, like twinkling Christmas lights, glittering with snowflakes and lightning bolts.

Wanda looks confused now, a hand pointed at Bucky, and one at me, bracing herself between the two of us and not sure who to attack first.

"This isn't possible," she breathes. "It's not."

""We're trapped here too," Bucky says, taking a step closer to her. "I swear to you. You remember Peter, don't you? He worked with Tony Stark, too. He's an Avenger. He's stuck here because Thanos's snap affected _everyone, everywhere."_

So that's what it was… a snap. I guess I never knew before how Thanos willed half of everything out of existence. I guess this whole time I've always sort of pictured him holding that stupid gauntlet up in the air like a Nazi salute, sort of a _Hail Hydra_ type of thing, and then just thought _really hard_ about what he wanted - and poof! A pile of ash.

But a literal snap of his fingers?

Somehow the flippancy of a _snap,_ like an old dad trying to get his kid's attention… that's somehow worse. More demeaning. Evil by its thoughtlessness.

"I don't know what's happening," Wanda whispers, her throat raw. She sounds like she's been screaming into the silence for a long time.

"Neither do we," I say, struggling to my feet, rubbing the back of my head. "But at least we're together. There's more of us. We're trying to put the pieces together..." too late, I realize it sounds like I'm making a bad pun. "I mean, just trying to determine what to do," I correct quickly.

"I promise you we're not illusions," Bucky says, stepping towards her again. "I swear to you, Wanda Maximoff. On Vision's sacrifice. What you and he tried to do - for all of us."

"Tried," scoffs Wanda. "We _did._ I did it. I killed my love."

I feel my breath catch in my throat. Vision and Wanda are a _thing?_ WERE a thing? That means that if Vision is dead…

Bucky takes another step. "Thanos killed him."

"Maybe you could not see," Wanda corrects. " _I_ killed him first. I destroyed the stone. And…" her voice catched. "Thanos turned back time around Vision - I watched - helpless, and he killed him - this time, taking the stone."

There's a horrifying silence.

"Wanda?" I ask. She turns swiftly to look at me, glaring fearsomely. "I know you don't know me. Not really. We met once, at the airport in Germany… during a little… disagreement."

"I don't remember you."

"I was in the red suit," I say quickly. "With the big white eyes."

She gives me a critical look. "You're just a child."

"I'm an Avenger like you," I say quietly. "Um… junior edition."

"He's with us," Bucky interjects quickly. "We're all together - here - in whatever place this is. Would you rather be with us?" He steps into her eyeline. "Or alone?"

She finally drops her hands at her sides, giving up on pummeling Bucky and I as if we're enemies. She sinks to the floor on her knees, wavering a little in place, like a small reed growing in a strong current.

"Leave me," she whispers. "If we're here to die, then let me die."

"We're NOT here to die, and we've probably already done _that,"_ I exclaim angrily, kneeling in front of her. "You're the biggest bad ass powered person I've ever met. Or seen. Maybe we'll need you to get back. What if we _can_ get back and you're not there with us? We wouldn't want to leave without _you._ You deserve to escape as much as anyone."

"Peter…" Bucky begins. He doesn't want me to give her false hope. He thinks I'm just making this up.

I am. But I'm also not. I believe it.

"Come with us," I say, holding out my hand. "I won't try to tell you it's going to be okay." With a painful squeeze of my heart, I think of May, waiting, alone. I think of Vision - how nice he always seemed. How dying _before_ Thanos snapped his fingers probably led him to a _real_ death, not the doorchard.

How a synthezoid being doesn't have ancestors waiting to grasp his hands and help him move on to a better place… not like what T'Challa was talking about.

"Maybe it won't be okay," I say. "But you won't be left behind or forgotten."

With agonizing slowness, Wanda puts her hand in mine. I help her to her feet, and Bucky shoots me a grateful expression.

"Come on," I say, leading her past one door, then another.

"How do you even know where you are going?" Wanda asks suspiciously, trying to pull her hand out.

But I hold it firmly, and she's surprised that I don't let go. I cheat and use full capacity of Spider-Man strength to hold on to her.

"Easy," I say comfortingly, "I marked the door."

"I lost track, after I left you, you know," Bucky admits, subdued. "I went through one too many. I didn't know I had found my way back to this one till I saw you."

Wanda gives him a swift look, suddenly worried. "I am sorry I hit you so hard. You frightened me, coming through the door like that."

"You don't have to apologize," Bucky rubs at his jaw. "I deserved that."

We approach the door labeled THIS ONE. When Wanda tugs on her hand a second time, I let go, and use both hands to push open the door.

It immediately lets in the sound of the Guardians arguing amongst themselves very loudly.

"Who is that?" Wanda hangs back.

Bucky walks through, gives her a smile of encouragement. "Our allies," he says. I see him give a nod to T'Challa.

It seems like a perfectly friendly nod.

Weird.

"Come on," he says, and without waiting, walks over to meet them.

Wanda steps over the threshold and looks doubtfully at me, glancing at me up and down. "What's your name?" she asks.

"Peter Parker," I say. "I'm sorry. I forgot to mention that."

"Stark's mentioned you," Wanda has some recognition now. She glances at the small crowd, and then back at me. "I'll give my greetings to the King of Wakanda," she says slowly. "But then I will return to this door. I want to be alone."

"I respect that," I say, uncapping the sharpie. I write;

WANDA'S SECRET SPACE. PLEASE KNOCK

"You think this is funny?" Wanda asks, not so much angry as she is disbelieving.

"Not at all," I say with absolute seriousness. "But I figure you'd rather have someone knock than walk in."

"How many people will be _visiting_?" Wanda asks thinly, losing energy for this conversation quickly. I know how that feels.

"Who knows. As long as we're trapped here, I'll visit you every day." I shrug. "But I can't really tell time, either. So maybe it'll be every hour or so."

"You don't plan on making this easy for me, do you?"

"No one should be alone," I say firmly. "Not like this." I walk purposefully back towards the group, Wanda following slowly behind. I see T'Challa and Bucky grasp hands - no, their forearms, in a sort of weird Wakandan handshake. They look genuinely happy to see each other.

Mantis is sitting on the ground, chin resting in her hand with a bored look, her antennae floating around as if looking for something to do. Drax and Quill are standing awkwardly, talking to Groot in low voices.

"And _that's_ where human babies come from," I hear Quill whisper awkwardly. "You sure picked a damn time to ask."

"Now, for trees," Drax holds up a finger. "When a _seed_ is planted…"

Groots eyes grow huge with expectancy. I cough loudly, distracting them.

"We're just waiting on Dr. Strange, I guess," I say.

"And me," Bucky says. "I'm going back out there."

"Out… like out? Looking around?" Quill asks. "What the hell for?"

"I'm still missing some friends, okay?" Bucky asks.

Drax straightens. "I shall help you look."

Bucky gives him an icy expression. "You punched me in the face."

"Yes, I punch very hard. You are probably half-blinded by my strength. So you'll need help to look for your friends."

"Who else died?" I pause, with a look at T'Challa. "Okay, maybe not _died,_ so much as… got put on time-out."

Dr. Strange's door slams open unceremoniously, and he strides in, looking perturbed.

"Speaking of time outs," Quill mumbles.

"Good, you're all here," Strange says mildly. "How strangely fortunate in an endless combination of trillions of doors, we all managed to be neighbors."

"I am Groot," says Groot.

Quill gasps. "Don't ask him that. Just because he's a doctor. Jesus."

Dr. Strange steps aside, allowing for someone else to walk in behind him.

Oh my god, it's the Falcon. Er… Sam Wilson.

Bucky mutters a surprised expletive.

"What in the hell!" Sam replies back. "Look atch'all of you. Having a damn death day party in here."

"I was going to come look for you," Bucky exclaims.

"I've been looking for _you,"_ Sam replies. "And Cap. And Widow. And - well, haven't seen 'em yet. How many you got so far?"

"Not enough," Bucky says tersely, and they shake hands.

"Okay, hold up," I put up a hand.

Drax excitedly holds up his hand, even though he's standing probably twenty feet away.

"Not now, Drax," Quill barks. "He's not hi-fiving you from _there."_

"Last time some of us saw each other," I shrug at the Guardians, "We were on opposite sides and fighting about - well, you, for some of it," I point at Bucky. "Can someone explain why the Winter Soldier and the Black Panther and the Falcon are all best friends now?"

"I wouldn't say best friends," Bucky says quickly.

"Brothers in arms," T'Challa says.

"We're buckle bunnies on the Cap train," Sam drawls mildly. T'Challa and Bucky both give him a confused look. "What? The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that?"

"T'Challa's sister is the reason I'm _not_ the Winter Soldier anymore," Bucky says slowly. "Stark really does keep you in the dark, doesn't he?"

"Typical," smirks Sam. He looks at Wanda. "Girl, you look - like hell. Come 'ere!" He holds out his arms for a hug, and she looks at him with a dead expression.

"All right," he withdraws gracefully. "It's cool. No worries. We can deconstruct what happened later." I hear him lean in towards Bucky and whisper. "You, me, and the Witch should have our _own_ meeting. I'm guessing Stark or Cap never ended up here at all, did they?"

He doesn't whisper as quietly as he thinks. Anyone standing close enough can hear him - and I can, too, with my spider-hearing.

"Our mutual friend is not here," Dr. Strange interrupts. "While there is a lot to discuss - which I'm sure you can do on your own time…"

"Are you suggesting we are running out?" Mantis offers quietly. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"What she said," I agree.

Dr. Strange has no answer. "Why do you think we were prevented from seeing each other before by a strange, powerful wind, and now we can all stand comfortably in one place?"

"I was thinking it's like antibodies," I say. "The wind pushed me out of _your_ afterlife because _you_ didn't want me there."

"I didn't want anyone in mine," Wanda says quietly. "And I had to fight them out. There was no wind."

"It's inconsistent because Thanos has no true control of dimensions, that is beyond even what the infinity stones can contemplate," Dr. Strange suggests. "The infinity stones are, for whatever reason, contained by one singular universe. It's their only weakness. It cannot cross into other dimensions." He shoots me a glare.

Quill starts laughing. He's the only one I confessed my… indiscretions to.

"We should all hold hands," Mantis declares suddenly.

Everyone gives each other an uncomfortable look.

Mantis holds her hand out to T'Challa, and the other to Wanda. "Please," she says kindly. Wanda very slowly puts her hand in hers, and Mantis's brows furrow when she can feel her grief and pain. T'Challa takes her other hand.

"I don't think this is necessary," Dr. Strange says crisply.

"You got something against holding my hand?" Sam grabs his hand.

"No, I'm just not fond of touching other people without surgical gloves on," he replies.

"Germaphobe," I snicker.

"DOCTOR," he corrects loudly.

Sam holds Dr. Strange's hand and Bucky's hand. T'Challa hesitantly grabs Dr. Strange's hand. "I don't believe we've met," he says in that mild, heavily accented tone.

"I'm Dr. Strange."

"I am T'Challa. King of Wakanda."

"I gathered," Dr. Strange says shortly. "I'd say it's a pleasure, but, well," he rolls his eyes at the room.

I take Wanda's other hand and hold my hand out towards the other Guardians, clearly hanging back uncomfortably. "Maybe we'll sing a camp song," I say to Quill.

Groot puts a leafy hand in Bucky's awaiting grasp, and puts his other hand in Quill's.

"I am Groot," he says.

"He wants to know if we can sing a song about trees, if we do," Quill sighs. "And no, Groot, we're not gonna sing."

Drax slaps his hand into mine, as hard as he possibly can. I wince and nearly get knocked to the ground with the sheer force of it. Finally the circle is complete when Quill and Drax grab hands. Bucky, Sam, Dr. Strange, T'Challa, Mantis, Wanda, Me, Drax, Quill, Groot.

Standing awkwardly in a circle, looking at each other, and then over at Mantis.

"What is the purpose of this?" T'Challa asks.

"Shhhhh, I'm feeling," Mantis shuts her eyes, and her antennae glow slightly.

"What, like, all of us? At once?" Quill exclaims.

"Who is that?" Sam stage-whispers to Bucky. "And why does she look like a snail from Chernobyl?"

Both Bucky and Wanda understand his reference all too well, as both give him indignant expressions. I feel like the joke has something to do with nuclear disasters, but I'm hazy on it.

"Who wants to start Kumbaya?" Sam adds, a little louder.

Dr. Strange glares at him. "Give Mantis a chance to do what she does."

"Oof, Doctor's orders in the _house,"_ Sam says. He nods across the circle at me. "Been a long time, Spidey. How's it kicking?"

"I kicked the bucket. You?"

"Touche!"

"Why did you kick a bucket?" Drax asks me.

"Aha!" Mantis suddenly exclaims, her eyes popping open before I can answer Drax's exceptionally _literal_ question.

"It does not matter who is _here,"_ Mantis says. "What matters is who is _not."_ She looks at each of us in turn. "Who among us are left. Stark, the man of Iron - he is heavily in your thoughts, Peter. And yours, Strange. The Captain. The King of Asgard."

"I am Groot," Groot says.

"He's still King of Asgard," Quill replies. "We know. Good looks AND a throne. Because why the hell not."

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, I know he's your buddy now, and god of Thunder, or, whatever."

"I am Groot."

"I agree," says Drax. "He is the most attractive man I've ever seen."

Mantis smiles. "Regardless of beauty. The survivors that we presume to remain behind are left so because they will help us." She nods.

"Think about who we're missing," I say, almost excitedly. "Iron Man, Captain America, the Hulk, Thor, Black Widow, and Hawkeye. The _original_ Avengers."

Sam rolls his eyes. "The special club."

"So maybe there's a cosmic reason we're here and they're there," I shrug. "Because Earth's mightiest heroes can get us out of this mess?"

"As opposed to the _second-most_ mightiest heroes?" Sam exclaims.

"What exactly could they help _us_ with?" Bucky asks, a pointed look around the blank, empty white room.

"Help us live," Mantis.

"Live?" Wanda asks. She's scoffing, doubtfully, her tone dead. "Turn back time?" she asks mockingly. "Undo everything to the final moment? So I can have the pleasure of killing Vision?" her lip trembles. "Again?"

"I don't know," Mantis frowns heavily, still feeling her pain, I'm sure.

"I am Groot."

"Rocket is still out there too," Quill translates. "I mean - I'm sure he's drunk out of his mind and cursing Thanos's name."

"I am Groot."

Quill saddens. "I'm sure he's looking for you, buddy. I didn't mean to say he wasn't."

"So, WE are here, and they are THERE," Drax says. "What difference does this make?"

"We get to sit on our asses and wait to be rescued like a couple of princesses," Sam laughs. "No offense, your highness," he nods quickly at T'Challa.

"So if we aren't dead we're not getting Avenged," Bucky says dryly.

"And that leaves us out of the equation, too," Quill says. "I'd like to get back and start looking for Gamora. Thanks."

"I believe Gamora has died," Drax says, confused.

"Didn't Thanos imply this?" Dr. Strange asks firmly. "You had a strong reaction to what he had said."

"Yeah, he said, she's dead, pretty much, or something like that," Quill groans. "But have you _noticed_ where we are? We can't trust anything that purple bastard says. I'll search every door until I find the one _she's_ stuck in."

Wanda rips her hand out of Mantis's. "I've had enough of this." She gives me a look, and then one to Bucky. Only us. "Thank you for coming to find me. Don't do it again." She starts to walk away. Everyone else begins to detach, awkwardly shoving hands into pockets and clasping hands behind their back. Dr. Strange rubs his hands on his cape like a towel. The cape doesn't seem to mind.

"Whoa," Quill suddenly exclaims. "DUDE. Your eyes."

"What?" Dr. Strange asks. Wanda turns to look, out of pure curiosity.

His eyes are turning bright, bright green. Almost like he had two small timestones in each eye instead of his pupils, and someone had just activated them.

But the light was gone too quickly.

"Did anyone else see that?" Quill barks.

"I saw it," I say. "They were all green and shiny and then went back to normal. Judgy and stuff."

Quill smirks.

"I cannot tell you what that is," Dr. Strange says slowly. "Only that I feel… different." For the first time, he looks thrown off of his game. Like he's _finally_ presented with a puzzle he can't solve, and his ego is feeling it. "Do any of you feel different?"

"I do," I say quietly, when no one else responds. Suddenly I have the attention of everyone. "When… when I started disintegrating," I say this slowly, shy to talk about it. "I could feel it coming and was able to hold it off longer because of my fast-healing powers. Um… it just meant the actual experience lasted longer than it should have."

Bucky looks like he's about to have a stroke, and the others just stare steadily. Mantis gives me a small nod of encouragement.

"So I could feel this super, uh, gross feeling creeping all over," I shudder. "N-n-never mind. It's not important. The _important_ thing is. I can feel that now."

You could hear a pin drop, every face seems to get a shade paler.

"But it's not the same," I say quickly. "I know that's weird but - I have this crawly-creepy feeling all over, saying something's happening, but it's not gross, and it's not bad," I hold up my hand.

Drax excitedly starts to raise his, but quickly lowers when he realizes I'm still not hi-fiving him. "See?" I say, wiggling my fingers around. "No dust!"

"I feel the same way," Dr. Strange says, without any of his usual barbs or insults. "I believe… at least, I can theorize. Something is happening on _our_ material plane."

"Maybe there is hope to save the world yet," T'Challa smiles. "But in the meantime, I cannot help but feel it is important to return to our respective doors. Portals, if you will. If we are indeed called back to our lives on Earth…" he nods at Drax and Mantis, "Or elsewhere in the galaxy, I feel we should be where it had left us. So we can be found again."

My heart shrinks inside of me a little. I don't want to be alone again. But everyone begins to nod and say temporary farewells. People are shaking hands and dispersing.

T'Challa is the first to leave. When he goes through his door, the white fog on the inside seems a little brighter than usual.

Or maybe I'm imagining that.

I feel a hand on my arm. Mantis is smiling at me. "Be patient," she says kindly. "Maybe we will see each other again."

"I sure hope so," I say quietly. "Take care."

"I will." She pats my arm and heads back for her door, Wanda blazing past her to get to her own without saying anything at all.

"Bye," I call out after her, saddened. I didn't know that she and Vision loved each other. I didn't think… well, I guess I didn't think Vision could. Not like that. Clearly I was wrong.

"I assume you all marked your doors somehow so that you know where to go," Dr. Strange calls out in a judgy way, as if asking children leaving the restroom if they remembered to wash their hands.

"I have removed my door from existence," Drax announces in a strange monotone. And yet I see him open the door he had jumped through earlier when he attacked Bucky, shutting it behind him.

"Didn't need to label mine," Sam says sarcastically, giving me a grin to try and make me feel better. "My door is in _his_ space. He labeled it Fresh Prince."

I snort unexpectedly. "Wh… why on _earth?"_

"I was singing the theme song when he found me, that's why. I was getting bored of jumping into this Willy Wonka universe of mine and living in the wrong life."

I shake my head with a laugh. "You and me both."

"Remember what I said," Dr. Strange says cryptically.

"You've said a lot of things," I respond. "Which part?"

Dr. Strange gives me another glare. "Nothing can be destroyed. Coming, Wilson?"

"I'll be right behind ya, Dr. Strangelove."

Dr. Strange shuts his door behind him with a slam.

Sam, Bucky, and I watch Quill walk Groot over to his own door, practically shoving him through.

"I am Groooooot," Groot whines.

"I'll be in there to check on you later," Quill promises. "Just behave yourself for a few minutes, will ya? You're on time out. No, better yet, you're older. Grounded. You are grounded, for the first time. Officially."

He shuts the door, notices that we're watching. "Teenagers," he says uncomfortably. "He's been whispering dirty tree jokes for the last five minutes."

"I don't even wana know what a dirty tree joke is," Sam's eyes are huge. "No thanks."

"Guess I'll be seeing you," Bucky says slowly.

"You should," Quill says. "Actually, we all should."

"Come again?" Sam asks.

"Did you happen to notice that everyone here had a major stick up their butt?" Quill exclaims. "Groot aside, who literally is a stick. And a butt. Anyway. Like you can't say a goddamn thing without a prophecy from the Selina Kyle and Dr. Strange shooting you down."

Bucky shrugs. "Well, they're gone now, so. Not really worried about it."

"Exactly, they're gone, but WE," Quill gestures to the four of us. "We could hang out."

"And do what?" I ask slowly. "Talk about what you've missed on Earth since you left?"

"Dude, exactly," Quill's eyes get huge.

"Who are you again?" Sam asks.

"Peter Quill, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes. Barnes, Wilson, Quill," I say tiredly.

"And you want to… have a couple of beers," Sam intones, glancing at me. "Except you. You're too young."

"Fresh out of beer," I respond.

"Just bros doing bro things," Quill shrugs. "I'll need the distraction. But for now," he straightens his shoulders. "I'm off to search for Gamora."

"Good luck," I say.

Quill hi-fives me. "Boom!" he announces, heading back for his door.

Sam and Bucky glance at me. "So he was from Earth, moved to space, had a girlfriend, Thanos killed his girlfriend," I say quickly. I leave out the part where the news of her death may have cost us the war for the universe.

They don't respond.

"Mr. Stark gave him the exact face that you are giving me right now," I sigh.

A strange wind starts to pick up.

"That you, bro?" Sam asks mockingly. "Trying to get rid of us now?"

"No, not at all," I say. "There goes my theory. I'd prefer it if you…" I pause. "Well. Like Quill said. Maybe the _bros_ can hang out later."

Bucky gives me a concerned look. "I don't like the idea of leaving you in here alone."

"I've _been_ alone. _This_ was the abnormal part of my day. Or week." I pause. "How long have we been in here, anyway?"

"A month?" Sam tries. "An hour?"

"Feasibly, I believe it's been about four days," Bucky answers. "Maybe we get rescued from this plane of existence and go back and it's been four years."

"Wouldn't that be something," Sam claps him and I on the shoulders. "Been a pleasure, boys. Look me up sometime." He turns and walks back towards Dr. Strange's door. The wind picks up a little, and he takes a funny dancing step forward, as if it were just on his heels.

"Okay, okay, okay! I'm going! Geeze!" He sends a salute directed to us, and then shuts the door behind him.

For a second, it's dead silent, except for that eerie, whistling wind, cold like space, but warm, too. Like a reminder of what sunshine used to feel like.

"Good to see you again," Bucky holds out his hand, and I shake it. "I'm glad we're on the same side now."

"So what if we end up back on Earth and don't remember any of this?" I ask. "What if our _rescue_ means stealing the gauntlet from Thanos and taking us back so far that we - I don't know, wake up in the airport and punch the daylights out of each other again?"

"Well, then I'll win again," Bucky winks and starts to walk away. "Don't bite off more trouble than you can chew, Pete."

"Wow you sound… really old."

"I am old." Bucky opens his door and gives me a very tired smile. "If we get out of this. And wake up in our old lives… and we don't remember _any_ of this… don't you think that's for the best?"

I pause. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

"I'll… come by again. Check in on you soon."

Bucky shuts the door behind him, and I'm alone again.

The wind continues, though.

There's a selfish part of me that wants to remember all of it; not just living vicariously through my space adventures across Xandar and Knowhere and the rest of it… but remembering the mistakes I made, too. The darker versions of my universe that I saw - where old friends were actually enemies - so I can remember how good I had it. Seeing Uncle Ben again, and younger Ned.

How many times I ran into some version of Aunt May in many universes, and how she loved me beyond compare in every single one. If _that_ didn't solidify my belief that she is the greatest person on the planet - no, in the galaxy - nothing else would.

I begin walking.

I don't know why, I just feel the need to walk.

One foot in front of the other, scattering tendrils of white mist in every direction. I look at the different doors that I labeled, chuckling over the memories for each one. Savoring what strange nostalgia I have for them now - how they seem so long ago, but I'm pretty sure they only happened hours ago, or maybe a few days ago. If I wake up without my memories, I want to cling to whatever is there now.

THE ONE WHERE MY PARENTS ARE ALIVE

THE ONE WHERE DR. STRANGE LIVES

XANDAR

DO NOT DISTURB

WINDOWS XP DESKTOP

NOPE

THE BRONX

WANDA'S SECRET SPACE: PLEASE KNOCK

DRAX: TO THE MAX!

BUCKY

FRANCE?

I pass by the others, some more quickly than other. For a moment I forget that NOPE was where the Venom alien disappeared to. I rush back over, cross out "NOPE" and rewrite; "DO NOT OPEN, THERE IS A HORRIBLE MONSTER IN HERE THAT WILL KILL US ALL."

If I am going to have visitors in my doorchard, I should probably stop being punny and start being more serious.

Then I get to an area totally unexplored. White doors, repetitive, insane in their mundaneness, in solemn marching order in every direction.

Suddenly inspired, I sit in the middle of the aisle. I hug my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them, staring off into nothing.

Maybe it's night time on Earth. Maybe that's why I feel that tingling feeling all over now - I should be resting, but my dead-not-ash body has a hard time realizing what that is. Maybe I'll take a nap of unspecified length here, in the middle of the mist, wake up, and open that door labeled the Bronx and get myself a real pancake breakfast in New York.

Then I'll bother Sam, Quill, and Bucky for… a card game. I could steal cards from somewhere in the Bronx, right? There's pawn shops…

Wait a second.

I slap my forehead.

Didn't I learn ANYTHING from Dr. Strange? Or my own dumb mistakes? I won't be stealing anything from any universes ever again.

In fact, I should probably return this sharpie…

But then how would I label the doors? It's really come in handy. With no sense of direction, how can I expect to make some sort of life for myself here? In my own after life?

Nevermind, I'm keeping the sharpie.

I take a deep breath, feeling lonelier than ever. I'm tempted to get up, stretch my legs, skip the nap, and go find Mantis. She's probably the only one who would be happy to see me at this point.

Yeah, I'll go find Mantis.

I stand up out of the mist, the fog falling away from me like a blanket. I stretch my arms, yawn, and turn to walk the way I came.

But then I hear a creak behind me.

I slowly turn around, knowing I _should_ be horrified at what I'm seeing. I should be scared shitless. But I'm not.

One of the doors is opening by itself.

"What the," I whisper. "Oh… oh man. Oh no. What is it _now?"_

I can't see what universe it leads to, not from this angle. Even moving a little closer, inching towards the door, blinking rapidly to see if I imagined it…

Nope, it's still opening, slowly but surely. It creaks wide open, and stands open, instead of falling shut automatically.

There's a white and gold light on the other side. It's so bright that I can't see what's on the other side at _all._

That's when I hear a voice. It sounds sort of familiar. It almost sounds like - well, the Avengers, actually. A low chatter of voices, arguing and calling out to each other. Maybe there's a battle.

Maybe there's only silence, and I'm truly crazy now.

I can't tell.

But I walk forward.

My heart is beating to the tune of a phrase I can hear inside my head -

 _This isn't the end._

 _It's never the end._

 _Anything can be undone._

That's when the creepy feeling comes back - but this time, oddly enough, it's welcome. Relieving, even. Like something terrible is being erased.

I look down at my hands and legs, willing myself to step over the threshold before they're gone for good and I can't use them anymore. I know what's coming next.

Standing in the white light - it's more pure than the fog. It's _not_ fog. Maybe it's sunlight. Either way, it's warm. I like it. I feel better than I have in hours. Days? Weeks?

However long I - we - were in that hell.

I think I'm turning into dust again. Like when Thanos destroyed me.

But it's a good thing. It's not actual dust. It's not brown ash, either, like someone needs to find a broom afterwards - I'm so relieved, like that feeling you get when you think you lost something dear to you - and then you see them walking around the corner just ahead, to meet you. To run into your arms and say how much they missed you.

It's like, white and gold mists. Legs go first, hands and arms, the rest of me, too.

I wonder if I'll remember everything, or if it will only feel like a second has passed. Maybe it won't even be the same me. Maybe so much has been messed with that I can't truly go back to who I was.

The doorchard, like glass, shatters. Absolutely disintegrates. I'm relieved to see it go - I'd cheer, if I could. I don't think I quite have my voice yet.

What's left of me; hundreds of flickering lights - move towards each other. More like when one strong magnet is brought close to hundreds of miniscule complementary magnets. The slate gray sand rushes for the block and clings to it, rebuilding shapes, turning into a solid, malleable forms instead of the opposite.

Dr. Strange called it from the beginning, didn't he? That the universe is rearranging our energy and placing us back on the path that Tony Stark will lay for us. T'Challa thought the same thing. We're not undone. Our bodies just couldn't follow us to this dimension of existence. Thanos didn't know what the hell he was doing, not really. It's just going to take a few heroes, bereaved and capable, to outsmart him. Does that mean we're winning?

I think we are. Or we will. Soon. I can feel it in - my bones.

Wait, I have bones again?

I have bones!

And lungs! I take a deep breath, to test them. Yup. Definitely have lungs.

We can never be destroyed. Until we're needed again, and somehow - someway.

How is that possible?

 _Victory,_ I think. That's why. We've won… or we will, and soon. Because we're the Avengers.

Reassembled.

...

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 **THE END**

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 _but..._

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 **OUR HEROES WILL RETURN**

 **IN AVENGERS: ENDGAME**

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...

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 **Special Thanks**

To QueenofCrystallopia; my beta, my friend, MY BESTA! Thanks for your never ending patience when I ran into writers block with your birthday fic story! I can't believe I started this right after we saw Infinity War and we were... like... grieving so hard for our favorites and freaking out. I feel a lot better bringing this to a solid close at last even though I put off the ending forever because I didn't want to leave them there in the doorchard. But THEY'RE GONNA BE OKAY. And until we have Endgame on our screens proving just that, knowing I can always hop on over to your fics where the people LIVE and your writing always inspires and pushes me to be a better writer makes me feel SO much better! You are amazing, happy belated birthday, thank you for all your help with the beta-ing, the late night fangirling, the sporadic texts throughout the day as we flip out over our latest writing endeavors, and for sending literally the best gifs in the world. You are AWESOME. I LOVE YOU!

\- Pip

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 **Dearest Readers,**

 **My apologies for any spelling errors. For some reason my brain was NOT computing haha. And google docs was not catching a lot of them, oddly enough. And I was so desperate to get this posted because you guys have been SO PATIENT! THANK YOU FOR YOUR LOVELY REVIEWS WHILE ALSO BEING SO PATIENT!**

 **Hopefully the ending of my story brings us seamlessly to where something REALLY GOOD happens in Endgame where everyone is RESCUED! Maybe quite literally, by Pepper Potts, in the Rescue suit. Who knows. I realized a little too late I was almost ending just as uncertainly as the movie did but hopefully not that bad. The idea is that the moment our heroes are put back on Earth - whether back in time or brought back to life - is what Peter is experiencing in the final paragraph. I hope that comes across as I finished the middle portion of the chapter this morning around 1 AM. I had the beginning of the chapter written last week, and the VERY ending written MONTHS ago. haha.**

 **If you enjoyed this story, PLEASE be sure to add me to your author ALERT list! I've got LOTS of other Marvel works in progress or beginning soon, and if you liked the tones of humor and drama in this story, you'll love the other projects I've got!**

 **And while you're at it, check out your beta's stories! QueenofCrystallopia has an entire MCU AU UNIVERSE and she's already on book FOUR of the series called "HUNTED", which is my birthday fic, as this story was HER birthday fic. Apparently we both totally run on the same birthday schedules lol. Love you, beta.**

 **Thank you for joining me on this journey. This story really helped me cope with the trauma (I kid you not) of seeing my childhood heroes die brutally on screen. I have every faith (and a lot of fear) of what's next... so... if Endgame ends anything like Infinity War, you can expect a sequel.**

 **See you in theaters, kids.**

 **Pip**

* * *

 **PERSONAL REVIEW REPLIES**

GarnetMonsoon - I am SO glad you enjoyed! Thank you so much for reading my lil' book. I have lots of other Marvel fics if you're in need of a Marvel fix! ;) Check out my profile!

NursingSchoolGrad - LOL I love that Groot was used so many times, thank you for providing that factoid. I love it SO much. And I am glad you enjoyed Mantis as much as I did! She's totally underrated.

Starnight5 - Thank you so much for your amazing compliments. You seriously made my day. Thank you for reading, for your comments, your kindness. Hope to see you on more fics of mine. Hugs!

TheRealMasonMac - I dunno, maybe? Maybe not?

cargumentluv - thank you for your review! I hope you enjoyed the last chapter. Hugs!

LoonyLovegood1981 So... there isn't plans for a sequel at this point, but I've got two major Marvel works in progress right now, as I'm wrapping up this one and "Avenge the Departed". Maybe I'll write a sequel if I need a new coping mechanism after Endgame comes out. haha. Thanks so much for reading, I love your reviews so much! Hugs!

gammathetaalpha - THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! You are so kind!

Tightpants182 - I am so glad you enjoyed this! please feel free to check out my other Marvel stories if you miss this one ;) You're awesome. Thank you for your kind reviews!

curry-llama - Thank you so much as always for such a thoughtful and long review! Hope to still see you around :) Hugs!

* * *

 **Other Marvel Stories**

Avenge the Departed - working on the FINAL chapter of this crime/undercover thriller starring Peter Parker, Deadpool, Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes and Captain America

The Departed - a repost of the above story in a different Avengers category to try and reach more audiences!

The Vast Marvel - collection of Marvel one shots! I suggest adding this story to an "alert" for when I post short drabbles!

Deadpool is Pissed - humorous one shot featuring Deadpool, Peter Parker, and Korg!

Down Came the Rain - my first fully fledged Spider-Man fic, starring other Avengers as well. Peter is kidnapped by a rogue NYPD cop, tortured for information on the Avengers, and released. He copes badly with the psychological aftermath. Interlude book between Spider-Man: Homecoming and Infinity War. Told in flash backs and flash forwards like 13 Reasons Why.

Down Came the Rain Retold - a repost of the above fic, and may I say, the far superior version. Told chronologically, scenes are added and expanded, plot holes and timelines fixed, characterization added... easier to read, track with. Plot and character growth is more obvious.

Into Oblivion - A *new* AU story. Peter Parker's uncle left him an infinity stone, and he'll have to do whatever it takes to get it off planet and destroy it before Thanos can return. Epic, galaxy wide adventure starring many other Avengers and based on The Fellowship of the Ring.

Sakaar and Away - not posted yet, but keep an eye out for this one. Peter and Aunt May are captured by the Grandmaster, and Peter will do whatever it takes to survive Sakaar, rescue Aunt May, and get home! (Another AU)

That One Time Peter Parker Accidentally Did Cocaine - yup, based on another crazy dream I had. One shot. Title is exactly how it sounds haha. Peter does drugs, and his totally (alive!) Dad is not happy about it - for more reasons than one. Tony Stark is even worse.


	18. Part VI: Soul - This Isn't The End

PART VI: Soul

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Chapter 18

This Isn't the End

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 **Wow, it's really dark in here. Where'd all the happy, glittering lights go?**

 **Also, why does it smell like Stark industry metal in here?**

 **Where is here?**

 **AND WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?**

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Dear Readers

I know I said this story was complete. But I was wrong. I realized; I wanted to write an epilogue that coincides with Avengers: Endgame. So consider this a teaser for an epilogue (possibly 2-part) that I will write in accordance with the new film.

Love,

Pip


	19. Part VI: Soul - Assembled Again

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 _ **Mild Spoilers for Endgame**_

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PART VI: Soul

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Chapter 19

 _Assembled Again_

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I see them; everyone that was on the planet Titan. Strange, Mantis. Drax… Quill. Everyone shimmering and appearing together like fireflies coming to life.

We're in a small plane of existence, it's gray now. Not white. Why am I _so_ averse to the color white right now? Like I'm sick and tired of it?

And then Dr. Strange looks right at me.

"Do you remember?" he asks. "The last five days."

"F-five DAYS?" I shriek back. "We - no. Wait. We were turning into dust, and now we're here, and now… it's been five days?"

He shakes his head, his gaze steel. "It's been five years," he says wanly, chin leveled, eyes boring through me. "Tony Stark needs our help."

 _Five years._

There's no way.

It couldn't be five years. We were… in space. Right? And then the dust. And then space again. No - a white space. Doors.

I feel my face drop with relief - no, of course not. That's a fever dream. The dream of being dead when we actually probably weren't dead. We were just - trapped, yeah. Trapped in nothing. Nothing happened.

"Do - you - remember anything?" Dr. Strange repeats.

I shake my head. "Remember _what?"_

"Right answer," he replies, his tone clipped. "Get ready," he calls out, and the others come into focus. As if they weren't standing there all along, listening in. Maybe they weren't. But I thought I saw them.

Dr. Strange circles his hands together in a whirling motion, crosses his wrists, and opens his arms. Golden lights twirl around us like sparklers on the Fourth of July.

A portal opens, yellow sparks shooting off in circular, winding motions.

Something spangled _is_ visible - Captain America's uniform, briefly, through a gray shadow of flying colors and a reek of smoke, charred bodies, and a decimated landscape.

Dr. Strange has opened a portal, and we step through.

I see in the distance - the Avengers. Fighting across a brutal landscape of thousands. A Titan's army.

They're fighting every enemy, aliens and creatures with too many arms, fire and rock plunging out of what is left of the Avengers Facility. Destroyed but not without those that will still stand and fight. I know we can be triumphant.

But I see them, and my heart fills with hope. There's Thor and Hulk. Hawkeye. Captain America.

And Tony Stark.

And wherever they go, I'll follow.

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 **...**

 **...**

 **THE END**

 **...**

 **...**

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 _Dear Readers,_

 _I'm too devastated by the end of the film to go any further than this moment._

 _Thanks for letting me indulge a little longer._

 _Rest now!_

 _Pip_

...


End file.
